


Family Feud? I thought you said Family Food!

by mcbeefy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Atsumu works at Onigiri Miya, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Minor Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, POV Miya Atsumu, Slow Burn, ceo of familymart pls do not sue me, in which everyone is a capitalist, komori is here to brew coffee (and trouble), osamu has beef with everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcbeefy/pseuds/mcbeefy
Summary: “Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a knot, jeez. I’ll get an iced black coffee.”“Size?”“Venti.”“You’re not at Starbucks,” the barista narrows his eyes at him.Wow. Atsumu hates this guy.The new barista at Atsumu's favourite cafe doesn't seem to like him very much, but that's okay because the feeling is mutual.Or, an F&B romcom ft. Osamu's quest for power & Komori whose primary life goal is to meddle
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 263
Kudos: 439





	1. This Gay Barista is Really Mean

**Author's Note:**

> here it is, the uninspired coffee shop drabble that got away from me and morphed into a full-blown romcom against a lovely backdrop of F&B shenanigans
> 
> idk how many chapters there will be, but i'll update as often as i can!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title inspired by this iconic Tumblr [textpost](https://www.google.com/amp/s/ivylionheart.tumblr.com/post/187099954092/i-think-its-funny-when-its-busy-at-starbucks-and/amp)

Atsumu shuffles along the sidewalk, doing his best to avert his eyes from the glare of the sun. It’s only 8.30am and the sun is already brutal on his bloodshot eyes. He really shouldn’t have gone drinking with Bokuto the night before, knowing full well that he had the morning shift today, but Bokuto is relentless where Atsumu is weak-willed, and so he’d caved after some wheedling (it didn’t help that Bokuto had also plied him with a couple drinks). And it hadn’t even been worth it, because they ended up running into Atsumu’s ex-roommate whom he _hates_. 

Atsumu arrives in front of The Daily Bean, wincing as the glare from the sun reflects off of the perfectly-polished steel handles. He can see his face in them. He does not look good. Oh, well. He’s feeling charitable today. Gotta give Osamu the chance to be the handsomer twin sometimes. 

He flings the glass doors open and stumbles into the cafe, tripping over the front step. Stupid fancy cafes and their elevated entraces. He squats ungracefully to grab his Croc that had fallen off his right foot in his encounter with the floor, jamming it back onto his foot with a grimace. He staggers over to the counter, rubber soles squeaking up a storm against the polished linoleum. Oops. Oh well, the cafe’s empty anyway; it doesn’t officially open until 9am.

“Tobio-kun! Gimme the nastiest bitch of a coffee you’ve got! You have no idea how awful this hangover is, I might die if I don’t get some caffeine pronto. Also, you won’t believe who I ran into yesterday — Oikawa, of all people!” Atsumu yells loudly, collapsing over the counter and ready to launch into a diatribe against his ex-roommate. 

Except the man behind the counter isn’t his favourite glum barista. He only realizes this mistake once the man turns around. Atsumu has never seen him before. He’s tall, taller than Atsumu, who’s already plenty tall, and his pale skin contrasts starkly against the black button-up he has on, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and lean forearms on display. His dark hair falls around his face in waves, parted slightly to his right, where two tiny moles peek out above his eyebrow. Those eyebrows are currently scrunched in a scowl, impossibly dark eyes eyeing Atsumu in disdain. His lips are probably twisted in disgust too, but Atsumu can’t tell with the face mask he’s wearing. Who the hell wears a surgical mask in a cafe anyway? He’s brewing coffee, not conducting brain surgery.

“If you’re looking for Kageyama, he isn’t here today,” Not-Tobio says in a low, quiet voice muffled by the face mask. 

Atsumu immediately decides he doesn’t like him. 

It’s not really the man’s fault, Atsumu had just really been looking forward to seeing Tobio, with whom he spends every morning bitching about the people they hate. Fine, it’s mostly Atsumu doing the bitching and Tobio nodding politely, but still. It’s a thing they do! They have a routine! It’s their thing! And here comes Mr. Tall, Dark, and Frowny, ruining Atsumu’s morning routine with his two stupid moles and his stupid face mask. (At this point Atsumu realizes that Tobio is also tall, dark-haired, and very frowny, but his point stands.)

“Tobio-kun take the day off or what?”

Not-Tobio eyes him warily. “I’m afraid we don’t make it a practice to give out employees’ work schedules.”

“But Tobio-kun is my friend! We bitch together about stuff everyday!” Atsumu splutters. 

Not-Tobio doesn’t appear particularly impressed by Atsumu’s very solid claims to friendship. 

“Are you here to order something or not?” 

His tone makes it clear that Atsumu will be thrown out if he doesn’t buy something in the next twenty seconds. 

“Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a knot, jeez. I’ll get an iced black coffee.”

“Size?”

“Venti.”

“You’re not at Starbucks,” Not-Tobio narrows his eyes at him. 

Wow. Atsumu hates this guy.

“Fine, I’ll get a _large_ iced black coffee,” he grits out. 

The barista keys in his order. 

“Your total will be six hundred yen.”

“Aw, no discount? Tobio-kun usually charges me less. Don’t y’all have that discount thing you give to friends of employees?”

“You are not my friend.”

Ouch. 

“Sheesh. Okay, you scrooge,” Atsumu grumbles, reaching for his card. Tobio had better come back soon. His wallet can’t handle this 20% increase on his coffee. 

The man hands him his receipt before turning around to make Atsumu’s coffee. But the coffee is only half the reason he’s here. Atsumu comes to the cafe every morning to trash talk, and he’s not going to leave until he’s had his fill. 

“Hey. Wanna talk? Since Tobio-kun’s not here and all.”

The barista doesn’t answer him. Maybe he hadn’t heard him. The coffee machine is kinda loud after all.

“Hey. Don’t you need my name? To put on the cup?” Atsumu calls, loud enough to be heard over the whir of the coffee machine. 

The barista ignores him again. But Atsumu isn’t a quitter, so he tries again.

“My name is Miya Atsumu, by the way. What’s your name?”

The barista continues to ignore him. 

Miya Atsumu is a man of many words. He chats with everyone he comes across: his neighbours, the cashier as she rings up his items, strangers at the bus stop. If he doesn’t speak a minimum of twenty thousand words a day (the average is seven thousand, he’s Googled this before), he would surely drop dead and die. So what is a man like him to do when faced with the personification of a solid brick wall? 

Talk the brick wall into submission, is what. 

“‘Kay. Suit yourself. I’m gonna talk, either way. So, yesterday I went drinking with my friend Bokkun — his name is Bokuto actually, but I call him that ‘cause it’s cute, and he calls me Tsum-Tsum anyway so it’s only fair if I give him a nickname too, right? Anyway, so we’re at the bar, and guess who we see? Fuckin’ Oikawa Tooru. I haven’t seen that bastard since last year, but he’s still ugly as ever. Oh, he was my roommate my first year of college, in case you’re wondering. Man, I can’t stand the guy. Never would shut up about his boyfriend called Iwachan. I hope Iwachan-san broke his stupid heart. Would serve him right for eating all my snacks all the damn time. Yeah so we walked into the bar, right? And Oikawa spots me from across the damn room, and he starts making his way towards us, probably to say some dumb shit or some-” 

“Here’s your coffee.” 

Atsumu soldiers on. “And so I was standing there with Bokkun, and Oikawa -” 

“Here. Is. Your. Coffee.” The barista all but shoves the plastic cup at Atsumu, before turning around to wipe at the spotless worktop. 

“You’re no fun. Tobio-kun wouldn’t do this to me.” 

The barista continues to wipe in silence. A lesser man might count his losses at this point, but not Atsumu. 

“Aren’t you gonna say ‘it’s bean a pleasure serving you’? You’re probably new, so maybe you don't know, but it’s the standard greeting round here!” He chirps. 

True to fashion, the barista pretends not to hear him. Atsumu finally decides to call it quits, but not without theatrics. He sighs loudly and dramatically. 

“You are so mean. The meanest. You’ve hurt me. Goodbye. Hope you know you’ve just ruined my morning. Also, your coffee sucks.”

The barista continues to pretend Atsumu doesn’t exist throughout this sequence, but at the last comment he turns around and fixes Atsumu with a glare.

“My coffee does not suck.”

“Ha! Got you to reply to me!” Atsumu cackles.

Above the mask, the barista’s eyes narrow into slits. Atsumu’s smile widens. But he turns back around and resumes pretending Atsumu isn’t there. Oh well. It’s almost time for him to help Osamu open shop, anyway. 

Atsumu skips out of the cafe, forgets about the front step again, and nearly brains himself on the concrete out front. Miraculously, his cup of coffee remains unscathed. He picks himself up in a tangle of limbs and embarrassment, and limps his way back to Onigiri Miya. He sips the coffee as he goes. It doesn’t suck actually. To his chagrin, it’s better than what Tobio usually makes. Yeah, that settles it. Atsumu _hates_ this new guy.

  


△

  
  
It had never been in Atsumu’s plans to end up working at Onigiri Miya. Hell, the second he gets his degree he’s outta here.

“Just eight more months, Atsumu. You can do this,” He mutters to himself.

Beside him, Osamu cackles loudly at his expense. He'd nailed Atsumu in the face with a dirty rag as the latter entered the store.

“I literally do that everyday. How have you not learned?” Osamu snickers. 

“Fuck you, you know the noren curtains block my view whenever I come in,” Atsumu snaps. 

God, he can’t wait to get away from this tyrant. He wouldn't be here at all, he thinks bitterly, if it wasn't for that damned Oikawa. 

At the tail end of his first year in college, Oikawa suddenly announced that he was moving out to go live with Iwachan-san, giving Atsumu barely two weeks to scramble for a replacement. Unable to find a new roommate in time, Atsumu found himself swallowing his pride and crawling to Osamu’s apartment. This was after they'd had that dramatic fallout too, the one that culminated in a bet of who would live the happier life. Standing outside Osamu's flat with a duffel bag of clothes and little else, Atsumu had to admit that the odds of winning the bet really weren't in his favor right then.

After cackling at his brother's misfortune for a good fifteen minutes straight, Osamu finally agreed to let him move in on the condition that he helped out at the shop. Officially, his job designation is service crew, but really he just does everything at the shop which Osamu doesn't want to do. That is, Osamu makes him mop the floors, wait tables, run the cash register, make the occasional delivery, run errands, and other menial tasks like peeling fucking eggs. It was pretty brutal the first few months, and Ataumu threatened to quit every other day, but never did follow through because where else would he find a job that paid his rent in full and fed him all meals of the day on top of a regular salary? 

In any case, Atsumu has learned to study at the shop during the less busy periods of the day, rather than studying into the wee hours of the morning after closing time. But this means Atsumu spends all his awake time either at school or at the shop, and he really hadn't been counting on wasting away his youth in this manner when he'd left home for the bright lights of Tokyo. This may be Osamu's dream, but it sure as hell isn't his. 

"Anyway, today's special is mentaiko." Osamu says, padding back into the kitchen. He’s still laughing. Bastard. 

Atsumu glares at his retreating figure, before readying the shop for its usual 10am opening. In between sips of his coffee, he wipes down each table before setting little baskets of chopsticks on them, alongside containers of soy sauce and wasabi. Next, he makes multiple jugs of green tea and sets them out on each table. Then he grabs a dry-erase marker and scribbles 'daily special: mentaiko' on the little whiteboard sign hanging out front. The first time he'd been tasked to write the daily special, he used hiragana because he'd forgotten the kanji, and got yelled at by Osamu for it. Not that the idiot himself knew the correct kanji anyway. They'd had to ask Kunieda-san, Osamu's kitchen assistant, for help. 

Now Atsumu Googles the kanji he doesn't know, so Osamu doesn't have yet another excuse to bully him. When he's done with that, Atsumu ducks under the noren curtains, making sure to keep an eye out for potential threats in the form of bastard twin brothers holding dirty dishrags. Satisfied that the coast is clear, he wanders into the tiny closet they call an employee backroom, and fishes out the black waist apron Osamu forces him to wear as his uniform. 

In the beginning he'd tried to wrangle Atsumu into wearing the Onigiri Miya cap he himself sports everyday, but Atsumu had refused vehemently ( _"I didn't burn my scalp getting my hair to a platinum blond only to hide it under an ugly-ass hat!"_ ). Tying the apron in a knot behind his back, Atsumu strolls out from the backroom and plonks himself into his usual spot behind the cash register. Then he digs his laptop out from his backpack he'd kicked under the stool, and gets started on his work for the day. Schoolwork, that is. 

Business is slow for the most part, which is unsurprising considering it's before noon on a weekday. Atsumu's got a late afternoon class later in the day, so he plans to hang out at the shop until then. For now, Atsumu finds himself huddled at the cash register working feverishly on the eight-page essay he'd foolishly procrastinated until now, eight hours before the deadline.

  
  
  
  
  
Sometime after the lunch rush hour, Atsumu struggling with his essay once more, Osamu tells him to go accept a delivery outside. Grumbling outwardly but secretly glad for the distraction, Atsumu wanders out the back door where their usual produce supplier has brought fresh vegetables.

He checks the shipment for the correct variety and amount, before signing the form the driver hands him. He frowns at his messy scrawl. Man, is his signature ugly or what? Isn’t that one of the hallmarks of being an independent adult? Having a nice signature? Then again, Atsumu sleeps in a futon on the floor of his brother’s single bedroom apartment, so it’s not like he’s anywhere near achieving independent adult status anyway. 

He thanks the driver and begins toting boxes into the store. He makes several trips, waddling into the kitchen each time before dumping them on the floor to become Osamu's problem. On his final trip, he’s squatting to lift another box when he hears an irritated sigh somewhere to his left. Turning, he notes with chagrin that it’s the mean barista from this morning, looking pissy while on the phone. He’s standing quite a distance away, in front of the back door of his own cafe, but it’s a cramped alley so his voice travels easily to where Atsumu crouches. Somewhat hidden by the dumpster, Atsumu strains his ears to listen more intently. What? He’s a busybody, sue him.

“Motoya, what the hell? This isn’t what we agreed upon.” Another irritated huff escapes the man’s lips. 

Ah. It sounds like he’s on the phone with Komori Motoya, the cafe owner. Always smiling, and always offers Atsumu a free brownie when he comes in. Atsumu likes him, even if his eyebrows are kinda weird.

If he’s on the phone with Komori, could this be a workplace dispute then? Like a shark drawn to blood, Atsumu scoots a little closer. The stench of the dumpster intensifies, but he endures it — a small price for gossip material.

“Seriously? You’re giving me that?” The man snaps. 

A pause. Then, “I’m hanging up. No. I don’t care. Goodbye.”

Hold on. That doesn't sound like how you'd talk to your boss. Suddenly Atsumu gets a bad feeling about this. He grabs the last few boxes and scrambles back into the shop before the guy can spot him.

"Hey Samu?”

Osamu turns around, holding a box of shiso leaves. He lifts an eyebrow in questioning. 

“Did The Daily Bean always have a barista with curly hair and two moles here?" Atsumu taps above his eyebrow. 

"Hmm, yeah. That sounds like the owner." 

"Wait. I thought Komori was the owner?" 

"They're co-owners. They're also cousins, I think. Why? What's up?" 

"Oh. Nothing. Was just wondering why I’ve never seen him before."

“I think Komori said he usually takes the afternoon shifts,” Osamu explains, examining a leek closely. “You’re usually in class then.”

“Oh. Cool.”

It is, in fact, not cool. It seems Atsumu might have accidentally insulted the _owner_ of the cafe. Uh-oh. He takes a deep breath. 

"Uh, don't get mad at what I'm about to say, but -" 

"I fucking knew it!” Osamu whirls around, leek forgotten. “You broke the waffle maker at home, didn't you?" 

"What? No, I didn't break the fucking waffle maker. I didn't even know we had that! Now shut up and listen. Okay. I kinda pissed off the owner of The Daily Bean this morning."

Atsumu braces himself for the tirade to come. Osamu's always yelling at him for his lack of tact when interacting with the other local businesses, _Tsumu don't you know anything about maintaining positive business relations_ something something or other. 

What he doesn't expect is for Osamu to let out a loud chortle. 

"What did you say to him?" He asks. 

"I told him his coffee sucks." 

Osamu laughs. "Nice. What else?" 

"Uh, that was it." 

"Aw, next time say something meaner. Come on, you're capable of worse!" 

Atsumu feels like he's missing something here. 

"You want me to be rude to him on purpose?" He asks incredulously. 

Osamu opens a box of daikon radishes and turns to face him. "Yeah, go crazy. I can't stand the dude." 

"Woah, what happened to not ruining business relationships?" 

"I don't want business relations with jerks," Osamu sneers. 

He turns around to face Atsumu. 

"Back when I first opened this shop, him and Komori came round to introduce themselves. The bastard refused to eat the food I served him. Said he 'doesn't eat food made by someone else's hands'. I'll fucking show him _these_ hands if he ever sets foot in here again."

"Holy shit. Everyone thinks you’re the chill twin but you’re, like, actually crazy.”

Osamu shrugs."Whatever. Hey, help me to peel those carrots."

"Oh, would you look at the time!" Atsumu exclaims, looking at his watch-less wrist. "Gotta blast!" 

And then he bolts. 

"Tsumu, I know you don't have a class now, come back here you bastard!" 

"Can't hear you!" Atsumu sings, grabbing his stuff and fleeing the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we as a fandom do not explore petty Osamu as much as we should and that's a crime honestly 
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	2. There's a Lot of Rice in This One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sakusa's second impression of atsumu somehow manages to be even worse than the first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a shot (of water) each time the word onigiri appears to stay hydrated and flourishing :^)

When Atsumu steps into The Daily Bean the next morning, it’s with great disappointment that he’s again met with a head of dark curls and a sour expression. 

“You again? Where’s Tobi-kun?” He grumbles by way of greeting.

The barista doesn’t bother dignifying this with a response. In fact, he doesn’t acknowledge Atsumu’s presence at all, sipping at his steaming mug and making it a point to not look at him. Atsumu barely registers this disrespect, too busy wondering what’s happened to Tobio. In all the time Atsumu’s known him, Tobio has never missed a shift, and now he goes and misses work two days in a row? Atsumu’s more than a little alarmed, actually. 

He’s debating whether or not to give Tobio a call when a sudden blur of orange bursts out of the kitchen.

“Gyah! I forgot to swap out the old muffins!” Shouyou yelps. He darts across the space behind the counter, holding a tray stacked precariously high with croissants and muffins. There’s a fine dusting of powdered sugar across his nose, and a smear of what looks like strawberry jam on his right cheek. As usual, his fiery hair stands every which way, curling at the ends from the humidity of the kitchen. He barrels past the barista, beelining for the glass display case by the counter.

“...Hinata. Don’t run around back here. It’s dangerous.”

“Sorry, Omi-san.” Shouyou says, looking sheepish. Atsumu suspects this isn’t the first time the barista — Omi? — has chided him for this.

“Do you want a blueberry muffin, by the way?” Shouyou asks, presenting the tray of freshly-baked pastries.

“It’s alright, I’ve already had breakfast. Thank you, though.”

“Okay, then I’ll just — oh! Atsumu-san! I didn’t realize you were here! Good morning!” Shouyou chirps, beaming at him. 

“Heya, Shou-kun. Where’s your partner-in-crime, by the way?” Atsumu inquires. “He wasn’t here yesterday too, when I dropped by.”

“Oh, Kageyama? His cat’s sick, so he had to take her to the vet yesterday,” Shouyou’s voice carries over from where he ducks down to slide open the doors of the glass cabinet. “But she was still throwing up and stuff this morning and he was worried, so he’s staying home to look after her today too.” 

Atsumu's relieved to hear that Tobio is fine. Well, not _fine_ , if Tonkatsu is sick. It's no secret that Tobio adores his cat immensely, ever since he found her as a kitten by the dumpsters out in the back alley. Atsumu himself had been there to witness Tobio's resolve, already notoriously weak to felines in general, absolutely crumble to dust as he teared over the orange tabby while trying and failing miserably at concealing his sniffling _(She’s so little, Atsumu-san, how could anyone just abandon her?)._

Within two minutes of discovering the shivering kitten among the cardboard boxes, he'd already named her for her golden-brown coat, which he claimed to be the exact same shade as a perfectly deep-fried pork cutlet. There was simply no other possible outcome than Tobio adopting her on the spot, his landlord's no-pets regulations be damned. 

So Atsumu thinks it's very likely that Tobio is currently stressed out of his mind over his beloved cat. He makes a mental note to drop Tobio a text later and check on him, though he highly doubts he'll get a reply. Tobio's rubbish at replying to texts, and that's putting it lightly. 

Shouyou removes the last of the stale muffins before looking up at Atsumu. “I asked if I could go over to see how Tonkatsu's doing, but he said no. He was all _dumbass, you’re gonna get sick too if you come_.” 

He briefly pauses while loading the glass display case with fresh muffins, and glances up again. He frowns. “Can humans even get sick from cats?”

Atsumu thinks for a second. “I don’t think so?”

Shouyou lets out an indignant huff. “That’s what I said too! But then he just hung up on me. Stupid Kageyama!”

The barista, who has been quietly nursing his coffee all this while, suddenly speaks up. Atsumu had almost forgotten he was there. 

“Hinata, is something burning in the kitchen?”

Shouyou’s eyes go very round and very wide. “Ack! The shortbread! Good call, Omi-san!” 

And then he’s disappearing back into the kitchen in another blur of orange, leaving Atsumu alone with the surly barista. Atsumu glares at him in irritation. First he comes in as a shitty replacement for Tobio, now he sends away Shouyou. Who is Atsumu _supposed_ to gossip with? The nerve of this guy! Atsumu folds his arms petulantly. 

“So. Omi, huh? Is that short for something?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well if you’d tell me your name then I wouldn’t have to,” Atsumu grumbles. 

“...Sakusa. Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Mm. I lied. I’ll just call you Omi,” Atsumu says flippantly. “Sakusa’s not as cute.”

Sakusa regards him wearily. “What about me gave you the impression of cute?”

“If you haven’t already noticed, everyone gets a cute nickname from me. So, Omi-Omi, can I get a large iced black coffee please?”

Sakusa makes an irritated sound at the back of his throat, punching in Atsumu's order with more force than is strictly necessary. 

“Six hundred yen.”

“Can’t I get the friend discount? Please, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa glares. 

Atsumu gives him his most pitiful look, the one that never fails to earn him a deck to the face from Osamu, because _you look pathetic, you miserable asshole, stop looking at me like that_. 

It doesn't work. 

“Fine,” Atsumu sighs, reaching for his card. “Just so you know, I'm a broke college student. Feel free to express remorse now.”

“That is none of my concern," Sakusa deadpans, nudging the payment terminal closer towards Atsumu.

Wow. Osamu should see this. He'd never rag on Atsumu's customer service skills ever again. 

“I have eight hundred yen to my name,” Atsumu whines as brings his card towards the card reader. The machine beeps once. “That’s two hundred now. Guess I’ll be going hungry for the rest of the month.” 

“You literally own a restaurant.”

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s not going to fool me. I know where you work, Miya.”

“What? How do you know that?” Atsumu demands. “Have you been stalking me?”

Sakusa makes a disgusted noise. “No. Your last name is Miya. There’s a traditional Japanese food joint on this street called Onigiri Miya. Even a toddler could put two and two together.”

“How can you be so sure of that? Japan could be teeming with Miyas, ever thought about that?”

“I’ve met your brother. Who also runs Onigiri Miya.”

“How do you know that was my brother?” 

“You have the same fucking face.”

He makes a good point. 

“Okay, well, how do you know I’m not my brother huh? Maybe I’m Osamu and I just dyed my hair.”

“From the brief encounter we had, Osamu did not strike me as the sort of man to commit to such an ill-advised dye job.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Atsumu touches his crown defensively. “I even use toner nowadays!”

Sakusa ignores him. “In addition, Osamu is a chef. Safety regulations dictate that he wears closed toe shoes,” he says, eyeing Atsumu’s Crocs in distaste. 

“What’s wrong with my Crocs? Why are you looking at them like that?”

Sakusa ignores him again. “Based on these observations, I think it’s safe to deduce that you are not Osamu.”

“Okay, fine, I’m not Osamu. But you’re wrong anyway, Sherlock Holmes. Because we’re not co-owners like you and Komori. So I _don’t_ own Onigiri Miya. Only Samu does. I just mop the floors. Not so clever now, huh.”

“...Do you not hear yourself?”

“What’s wrong with what I said?”

“I’m continually amazed at your knack for presenting yourself in the most pathetic ways possible.”

“Hey!” Atsumu splutters. “You're just mad that you were wrong!” 

Without sparing him a further glance, Sakusa turns around to prepare his drink. Atsumu watches him with a mixture of annoyance and interest. Annoyance, because Sakusa is rude as hell and therefore anything he does is irritating by default, but also interest because the way Sakusa works is fascinating in a way Atsumu doesn’t really understand. He hadn’t registered this yesterday, but there’s an elegance to the way he moves, all confident motions and nimble fingers. Atsumu has seen Tobio make coffee countless times, and he’s always methodical and precise. But with Sakusa there’s that same meticulousness, except there’s also a sort of fluidity in his actions. It’s almost mesmerizing, the way he tamps down the ground coffee, before twisting and lifting the tamper with an elegant flick of his wrist. 

Atsumu watches, transfixed, as Sakusa transfers shots of espresso, water and ice into a plastic cup with graceful deftness. He’s so engrossed in staring at Sakusa work that he startles a little when the drink is handed to him. Sakusa gives him a weird look. 

“Thanks, Omi-Omi!” 

Atsumu sends him a bright grin. Sakusa grunts in response, before picking up his own mug and resumes taking occasional sips while staring out the French windows. Atsumu sighs, taking that as his cue to leave.

“Bye, Shou-kun! Tell Tobi-kun I hope Tonkatsu gets well soon, okay?”

From back in the kitchen, he hears a distant _Okay, I will! Bye Atsumu-san!_ as he exits the cafe. This time, he’s cheered to find he actually remembers about the front step, and doesn’t make a fool of himself as he skips away.

  
  
  
  
  
When Atsumu gets back to Onigiri Miya, he doesn’t get a dishcloth to the face this time, but he does get the evil eye from Osamu, which is psychologically the same thing.

“Oi. While you were out gallivanting, Kunieda-san and I set up the shop by ourselves,” Osamu complains, gesturing to where the tables have been readied with cutlery, condiments, and tea already set out. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes, pushing past him to get to the backroom. “I wasn’t out ‘gallivanting’, I went to get coffee. Would you rather I not consume any caffeine and then scare off every single customer that steps into the shop?”

Osamu follows him, scowling as he stands in the doorway and crosses his arms. Atsumu takes his time rooting around for his apron, mentally preparing for another one of his brother’s lectures. 

“Can’t you at least buy coffee from elsewhere?” Osamu grunts, nodding at the drink in his hand, which bares The Daily Bean’s logo smack center on it. “That thing’s an eyesore.”

“Oh, this?” Atsumu says airily, then takes an audible slurp of coffee, enjoying the irritated furrow of Osamu’s brows. “Their coffee’s good, though.”

“You like supporting gentrified trash, is what I’m hearing.”

“What the hell? Okay, so you’ve got beef with Sakusa, but I thought Komori was your friend?” Atsumu says accusingly. 

“What are you, the friendship police? Can't I be friends with someone but still hate their brand?" 

Atsumu stares at his brother, unsure of what to say. 

“You’re terrible,” is what he finally decides on, as he slips past Osamu out of the backroom.

“Am I wrong, though?” Osamu demands, trailing after Atsumu towards the kitchen. “Their stuff is overpriced as hell! Their entire consumer base consists of rich housewives and dumb twenty somethings with no concept of budgeting.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, ignoring the obvious jibe at him. “Kunieda-san, is there anything I can help with?”

“Ah, Atsumu-kun! If you don’t mind, those carrots over there need some peeling,” Kunieda-san says cheerily.

“Leave them to me!” Atsumu chirps. Behind him, Osamu mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _you two-faced bastard._

As Atsumu gets to work with the vegetable peeler, he chances a glance at his brother. 

“Y’know, I don’t get why you’re so annoyed. It’s not just their cafe, everything in this part of town is expensive.”

It’s true. They’re located in one of Tokyo’s trendier neighbourhoods, where the only businesses lining the street are boutique shops and independent specialty stores whose price points and key demographic tend towards the upscale end of the spectrum. The only, and most glaring, exception is the FamilyMart konbini at the corner of the street, but this is Tokyo after all, and convenience stores are near impossible to avoid. Even Onigiri Miya itself is a bit of an outlier, with the area’s proximity to Atsumu’s university ensuring a steady supply of perpetually hungry college students. 

“Is it because they’re the only other F&B business on this street? Aww, are you threatened, Samu? Need your big brother to go scare the big bad bullies off?” Atsumu goads.

Osamu shoots him a dirty look. “No, I’m not fucking threatened, you asshole.” 

“Maybe if you started pricing like them, you’d be swimming in cash too,” Atsumu jokes.

He earns himself a hard bonk on the head with the handle of Osamu’s rice paddle for that one.

“Don’t even joke about that Tsumu,” Osamu warns, ignoring his brother’s whines of pain. “Onigiri is a humble food. There’s no reason only the privileged should enjoy it.” 

“Okay, okay, I get it, Nobel laureate Miya Osamu. Man, you gotta stop hitting me on the head, I won’t graduate from college at this rate.”

Kunieda-san looks up disapprovingly from the mackerel he’s salting. “Osamu-kun, are you hitting your brother again?”

Osamu manages to look a little abashed at this, and Atsumu fights the grin threatening to spread across his face. Now that they’ve moved out of Hyogo, he no longer gets to witness Osamu getting scolded by their mother, so this is the closest approximation to what is one of his greatest joys in life. Despite his best efforts, he feels a smirk creep up. 

As soon as Kunieda-san’s back is turned, Osamu stomps on his foot. Atsumu yelps. 

“What’s wrong, Tsumu?” Osamu asks, voice saccharine-sweet. “You alright?”

Yeah, his brother is the _worst_.

  
  
  
  
  
In the late afternoon, Osamu sends him on a delivery. Normally, this is his favourite part of the job, because he gets to escape the cramped confines of the store and wander around outside on his bike instead, and also it means no Osamu breathing down his neck and threatening cranial damage at every turn. And if he takes a detour on his way back to waste time, nobody but him has to know. But today’s delivery is a particularly gruelling one, and Atsumu really isn’t having a jolly time: the customer had ordered a fuck ton of food, and the delivery location is right on top of a hill. How did urban planning allow this to happen? Are the houses on this hill all wonky and slanted on the inside too? _Why did the customer order so much fucking food?_

Thighs burning as he bikes uphill, Atsumu exhales heavily through his nose and pedals harder, glancing backwards briefly to check that the comically large insulated bag of onigiri is still sitting securely on the back of his bike. Satisfied that the bag is fine, he turns back around and almost runs smack into a telephone pole. He swerves to avoid collision, and if not for the sidewalk fencing, would have sprawled face-first onto the asphalt. Groaning, he dusts himself off and resumes the arduous trek up the hill. The customer he’s delivering to had ordered two of every single item in the shop; he grits his teeth as he struggles with the steep incline, cursing his brother’s extensive menu all the while. 

The backs of Atsumu’s knees are sticky with perspiration, and his shirt clings uncomfortably to his damp back. He’s long since shed his windbreaker, the jacket offering nothing but sweaty discomfort in the balmy late spring air. Arriving at the address Osamu had given him, he dismounts and rings the buzzer. While waiting, he fans himself with the sleeve of his discarded jacket and looks around idly. The golden light of the setting sun casts long shadows all around, and Atsumu winces when the glare hits him square in the eyes, momentarily blinding him.

“Ah, thank you so much, young man!” A woman calls from behind him. He turns, spots dancing in his vision, and hears more than sees her swinging the front gate open. 

When his vision clears, Atsumu sees that the customer is a middle-aged woman. 

“Oh dear, oh dear. That’s quite a lot of food!” She comments as Atsumu retrieves the hefty amount of food from his delivery bag. “So sorry to trouble you like this, it’s just that we’re holding a party for my daughter! She’s just gotten back from the States, and she’s been craving onigiri…”

Atsumu smiles and nods politely as she chatters away, interrupting her halfway to offer to carry the food into the house for her. She thanks him profusely, and he revels in her praises of what a nice young man he is, and how her own son could learn a thing or two from him. When it comes to charming old ladies, Atsumu is simply unmatched.

After refusing her offer to stay for a cup of green tea for the fifth time, Atsumu finally leaves to head back to the shop. Without the heavy load of food and travelling downhill this time, he has a much easier time on his return trip, enjoying the wind on his face and through his hair. He weaves through the narrow alleys and shortcuts which he’s since become familiar with, arriving back at Onigiri Miya’s street in no time flat. There’s about ten more minutes before Osamu inevitably calls to ask where he is, like some sort of helicopter parent he can’t shake off, so Atsumu decides to pop by the FamilyMart quickly for a snack. 

He dismounts and hops into the store, humming along to the entry jingle under his breath. Snagging a packet of Jagabee, he wanders over to the counter to make payment. The employee on shift today is a smallish guy with bleached hair, and his root regrowth is so bad it makes Atsumu feel better about the fact that he’s procrastinated touching up his own for a couple weeks. His awful two-tone hair reminds Atsumu of the pudding cups he and Osamu used to fight over when they were younger. Still do, actually. They'll probably end up in a retirement home and still be fighting over pudding, honestly. 

Puddinghead looks up from the game console he’s engrossed in as Atsumu slides over his potato snack.

“Will that be all for you today?” He mumbles while scanning the item. 

“Can I get an iced coffee too please? Thanks!”

Puddinghead nods and turns around to wrangle with the coffee machine. Atsumu’s eyes wander while waiting, landing on the shelf of ready-to-eat meals. In particular, the myriad of plastic-wrapped onigiri catch his eye. His jaw drops at the sheer number of flavours, suddenly feeling very grateful for Osamu’s much more modest menu size. He’s about to look away when a movement catches his eye. There’s someone picking out onigiri from the top shelf, and his side profile looks awfully familiar.

“Here’s your coffee,” Puddinghead says, interrupting his thoughts. Atsumu thanks him and pays quickly, then rushes over to the onigiri section.

"Omi-Omi? What are you doing?" Atsumu gasps. 

Sakusa startles a little at the sudden ambush, his surprised expression quickly morphing into one of annoyance.

“Buying dinner,” he sighs. “What does it look like?” 

“Are you serious? You're getting _that_ as dinner?”

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem with that?” 

“Yes, of course there is! You're buying pre-made convenience store onigiri right in front of _me!_ This is unacceptable!”

“Just go away then. Also may I point out that you're literally holding a cup of FamilyMart coffee while talking to me?"

“That's different!” 

“How is that any different?”

“Because your coffee is expensive as fuck! And while Tobio's not around I don't even get a friend discount. I can’t afford to buy coffee from you all the time, okay!” 

“My coffee is priced the way it is because we use quality coffee beans.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure you do,” Atsumu says with a dismissive flap of his wrist. “Anyway! I still can’t allow this!”

He wrenches the onigiri from Sakusa’s hands as the latter protests loudly. “Jeez, why are all of them the same flavo— _umeboshi?!_ Wow, I don’t think I've ever seen anyone but the senior citizens order this back at our store.”

Sakusa scowls. “It’s classic.” 

“That’s just another word for ‘old-fashioned’, you can’t fool me.”

“Shut up, Miya. Give those back to me,” Sakusa growls, reaching out a hand. 

“Nope. You’re coming back to the store with me, and you’re gonna eat _real_ onigiri.”

“I don’t eat food that’s been prepared by other people’s hands. It's unsanitary,” Sakusa snaps, then makes a grab for the onigiri, but Atsumu snatches his hand away quickly.

"Yeah, yeah. So I've heard. But it's not like we don't wear gloves."

"Plenty of sushi chefs don't." 

"And I'm telling you that we _do_ , so stop fretting will you?" 

“Miya, I don’t have time for this. We’re understaffed without Kageyama, and I need to be back at the cafe. Hinata is the only one there right now, and he doesn’t know how to make coffee.”

“All you gotta do is trot along to Onigiri Miya, snag a rice ball, and you’ll be on your merry way!”

“No.” 

Sakusa lunges forward suddenly, catching Atsumu off-guard and yanking the onigiri out of his grasp.

“Hey!” Atsumu shrieks.

“I’m not wasting my time, Miya. Besides, what difference would it make if I eat these or the ones your brother makes? It’s just rice.”

Atsumu gasps loudly. “I'll tell Osamu you said that. Just so you know, he already doesn't like you.”

“Osamu dislikes me?” Sakusa asks, brows furrowed in confusion. 

Atsumu takes advantage of his momentary distraction to snatch the onigiri back, returning them to the shelf. 

“Mhm. My brother hates plenty of people, don't worry about it. Now come with me. It's time for you to eat some onigiri that's actually good.” 

Atsumu yanks Sakusa by the elbow. 

“Why does Osamu not like me? Don't touch me, Miya.”

Atsumu drops his arm, rolling his eyes. “He's a petty bitch, he hates everyone. You're not special. C'mon, let's go. The FamilyMart guy is staring. He probably thinks we’re being weird.”

“Not really,” Puddinghead says without looking up from his game console. “They pay me just to stock the shelves. I don't really care what you do, as long as you're not stealing.” 

“Well, I'm stealing a customer of yours right now. Does that count?” 

“You’re not stealing anything, Miya. I’m buying these. Go away,” Sakusa grumbles. He’d somehow gotten his hands on the onigiri while Atsumu was talking to Puddinghead, and now he’s striding over to make payment. 

“When did you — ?” Atsumu squawks, but Sakusa’s already leaving the store. He scrambles after him. 

“You’re so lame, Omi-kun,” Atsumu announces as they step through the automatic doors.

“Go away, Miya,” Sakusa says tiredly. Then he turns and walks away. Atsumu blows a loud raspberry at his back. If Sakusa hears it, he pretends not to. 

Atsumu himself heads back to work as well. He doesn’t get on his bike though, deciding to push it by his side instead so that he can drink his coffee as he goes. As soon as he takes a sip, however, he winces at the sour tang that hits his tongue. Yikes, is this coffee acidic or what? As much as Osamu dunks on him for his ‘unrefined palate’, he’s still his brother’s twin at the end of the day. His taste buds are as discerning as Osamu’s; he just chooses not to be an asshole about it. But right now he really wishes he had that ‘unrefined palate’, so he could drink cheap coffee and not want to hurl. 

Grumpily, he makes his way back to the store, tossing the packet of Jagabee towards Osamu as he enters. 

“Here, got you something.”

Osamu eyes him suspiciously. “So you _did_ break the waffle maker, then.”

“For the last time, no I fucking did not. Can’t I get my brother a snack without having an ulterior motive?”

“No. Because you’re never nice to me.”

“I’m taking it back then,” Atsumu snarls, lunging for the snack packet. Osamu beats him to it, cradling it to his chest protectively.

“No take-backs, asshole!”

“Then don’t complain when I buy you shit.”

“Is this expired or something?” Osamu demands, but tears open the packet anyway. 

“No, I literally just got it from the konbini nearby! Man, I am never buying anything for you again.”

“Liar. You didn’t get this for me,” Osamu says around a potato stick.

“Fine. I got it for myself, but the shitty FamilyMart coffee ruined my appetite,” Atsumu admits. 

“See? I knew it. You’re never nice to me. You just gave me your unwanted snack,” Osamu grumbles. 

“If you’re gonna complain this much, you can stop eating it.”

“Nah.”

Atsumu watches as Osamu polishes off the snack before heading to the kitchen to begin making an onigiri. 

“Is that for Shouyou?”

Osamu nods. “He called earlier, said he wanted chicken today.”

He wraps a generous amount of chicken karaage with rice, and expertly begins shaping it. As Atsumu watches him, an idea pops into his head. 

You see, Onigiri Miya has a sort of barter trade system going on with The Daily Bean (by which he mostly means Shouyou, their patissier), where they (Shouyou) can get free onigiri in exchange for whatever Shouyou baked that day. This arrangement came into being two months into Atsumu working at Onigiri Miya, at which point he had been ready to barf if he had to eat yet another rice ball. He loves his brother’s cooking, really he does, but eating nothing but onigiri three meals a day, everyday, was starting to make him feel truly ill. And so he’d marched into The Daily Bean and struck up a deal: every evening he’d come round with a whole bunch of onigiri in exchange for sandwiches and pastries. Shouyou had been more than okay with the arrangement, claiming Osamu’s food to be a godsend, and Komori had been cool with the idea too. On most days Atsumu brings onigiri over for Shouyou and Tobio, and occasionally Komori too. As far as he’s aware, Sakusa has never participated in this food trading. That’s about to change. 

“Hey Samu, do you think you could also make an umeboshi one today?” 

Osamu pauses in the middle of shaping a second onigiri for Shouyou, narrowing his eyes at Atsumu. 

“For who?”

“Oh, you know, just someone.”

“Komori is out of town, Hinata doesn’t like umeboshi, and I know Kageyama isn’t working today because you wouldn’t stop complaining about it this morning. So who is it? If you say Sakusa I’m hiding a huge fucking lump of wasabi in the next onigiri you eat.”

“...It’s for Sakusa.”

“No fucking way,” Osamu growls, angrily wrapping nori around the ball of rice. “Too much of my money goes to him as is, I’m not giving him free food on top of that.”

“Come on Samu, I just want him to try your food! Also you don’t even buy coffee from him, what do you mean your money is going to him?”

“You get coffee from his cafe everyday.”

“Okay. And? That’s still my money.”

"Yeah, but I'm the one paying you, which means it's my money that's going to that hipster cafe, and that pisses me off." 

“That’s childish. Anyway it’s not like we’re giving him food for _free_. We get plenty of stuff in return!”

“Last time I checked, Hinata’s the one who bakes the stuff we get.”

“And who do you think is paying him for him to be able to bake all that stuff?”

“Fine. I’ll make one for him. Just one.”

Atsumu shoots him a satisfied smile. 

“Atsumu-kun, there are some customers by the front!” Kunieda-san calls. 

“Okay!” Atsumu calls, bounding towards them to show them to a table. After getting their orders, he goes back to yell them at Osamu through the serving hatch. 

“Stop yelling. I’m not deaf,” He grumbles.

Atsumu spots a plastic carrier of onigiri sitting by the corner of the counter. “Are those for the coffee boys?”

“Yeah. Bring them over before Hinata’s karaage gets cold. But don’t take too long, the dinner crowd should be arriving soon.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He leans over and snags the bag, then makes the short trip to the cafe a few doors down.

  
  
  
  
  
When Atsumu enters The Daily Bean, there’s a line by the counter, and Sakusa is busy brewing coffee, so he wanders over to the side and calls for Shouyou. A head of tangerine orange hair appears in the kitchen doorway, and Shouyou’s eyes light up when he sees the food in Atsumu’s hand.

“Thanks Atsumu-san!” Shouyou beams as Atsumu hands him the plastic carrier. Grabby hands paw at the contents of the bag, and Shouyou fishes out the umeboshi onigiri. He makes a face. 

“Oh, that one’s for Omi. Don’t worry, Samu made plenty of karaage ones for you.”

“Omi-san ordered an onigiri?” Shouyou asks, already unwrapping one of his onigiri.

“Well, not exactly. But it’s for him anyway.”

Atsumu glances over at the man in question, who’s still busy making drink after drink. He looks stressed. 

“Atsumu-san, how does chicken pie sound for today? Oh I made bagels too,” Shouyou says through a mouthful of karaage. 

“Anything you make is great, Shou-kun!” 

He shoots Atsumu an unimpressed look as he begins loading a takeaway box with mini pies and bagel sandwiches. “This is why I never get you to be my taste-tester. You just tell me everything’s good,” he complains. “Komori-san only likes the super weird flavours, Omi-san never wants to help taste-test, and Kageyama’s super mean when he doesn’t like something. Osamu-san’s the only one I can trust.” 

“It’s because you keep saying stuff like that that he keeps making you these huge fucking onigiri,” Atsumu says, eyeing the fillings threatening to spill out of the gigantic rice ball in Shouyou’s hand.

Shouyou grins as he adds a cheese tart to the box. “That one’s for Osamu-san. Not you. Don’t eat it.”

“That’s so unfair, Shou-kun! I’m the one who brings you the onigiri everyday!”

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “Fine, you can have this.” He drops a mini chocolate croissant unceremoniously into the box, then shuts it. 

Atsumu pouts as Shouyou passes the box to him. “You’re becoming as mean as Samu. Must be all the onigiri you keep eating.”

Shouyou laughs before waving him goodbye, saying something about helping Sakusa with taking orders. 

“Make sure to give him the umeboshi onigiri,” Atsumu reminds him before leaving.

  
  
  
  
  
As soon as he gets back to Onigiri Miya, he’s immediately inundated with taking orders and bringing food from the kitchen, which is why it’s a long while before he notices the opened container of wasabi sitting on the counter.

“Hey, someone left the wasabi out in the open,” Atsumu grumbles as he puts it in the fridge. 

“Ah, it must have been Osamu-kun. He was using it to make the onigiri for your friends at the cafe,” Kunieda-san explains.

A snide comment about _forgetful scrubs with shit memory_ is already on the tip of his tongue but he realizes Osamu isn’t around. Probably in the washroom or something. Wait. Did Kunieda-san say he was using the wasabi for Shouyou and Sakusa’s onigiri? But neither chicken karaage nor umeboshi onigiri have wasabi in them, unless —

Oh. 

_Oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> osamu strikes again hah
> 
> also I would like to point out that while atsumu wears actual crocs, osamu wears kitchen shoes which look like [this](https://www.aussiechef.com.au/chef-clog) and are VERY croc-adjacent both in silhouette and material. In conclusion, both miyas wear crocs. The only difference is that osamu does it for his job while atsumu wakes up every morning and actively chooses to be a clown.
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	3. Atsumu's Brush With Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> atsumu and sakusa get into an...altercation

If the past twenty-two years of his life were not indication enough, Atsumu is now fully convinced that his brother is in fact a demon. If not for the fact that they were birthed from the same womb, he would even go so far as to assert Osamu as the spawn of Satan himself. 

Atsumu bursts through the front doors of The Daily Bean to find Shouyou behind the counter, alone and fidgeting anxiously. Staggering over to him, Atsumu pauses to catch his breath, winded from his sprint down the street. 

“Where's Omi?” He wheezes out. 

“In the kitchen,” Shouyou says nervously.

Atsumu nods, then pushes his way through the little swing door by the side of the counter. He makes for the kitchen, but Shouyou hastily steps in front of him, flinging both arms out on either side to stop him. 

“Atsumu-san! You can't go in there!” Shouyou hisses. Then, dropping his voice, “I think he's crying.” 

Dread fills Atsumu's gut. So it seems he's too late. But he can still make amends. 

“Don't worry, he's not crying. He just swallowed a fuck ton of wasabi, that's all.” 

“Huh? Wasabi?”

Atsumu moves to sidestep Shouyou, but is swiftly blocked once more. “Shou-kun, you gotta let me in.” 

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Shouyou insists. “Omi-san's _scary_ when he's upset!”

“Oh look, Tobio is here!” Atsumu lies. 

“Wha—”

Shouyou whips his head around in search of the surly barista, and Atsumu takes his momentary distraction to duck under the dividing curtain and into the kitchen. 

Sakusa is leaning against the white brick wall on the left, head tipped back and eyes screwed shut. He isn’t wearing a mask. There are tear tracks down his face, still shiny with fresh tears. His face is contorted in pain, with one hand pinching his nose. 

Without opening his eyes, he waves dismissively in the vague direction of the kitchen entrance. “Hinata, I’m alright, you don’t have to check on me.”

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Atsumu gasps out. 

Sakusa’s eyes snap open. “What the fuck are you doing here? Hinata! Hinata, get this bastard out of my shop right now!”

Shouyou appears behind Atsumu, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Omi-san, I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen! C'mon Atsumu-san, let's just go, alright?" 

But Atsumu remains rooted to the ground, staring at Sakusa’s red and watery eyes in horror. "Shit, man, I'm so sorry—" 

Sakusa jabs a finger at Atsumu, then at the exit. “Get. Out.”

“No, no, I came here to help!” Atsumu squeaks, both arms raised in surrender. 

“You tried to poison me!”

"It wasn't me! It was Samu, honest!" 

In retrospect the attempted poisoning itself really should have been the first thing to deny in this situation, and not his involvement as a perpetrator, but Atsumu shifts the (rightful) blame to Osamu on pure instinct honed from a lifetime of being siblings with a rascal. 

"Get out of my store before I call the cops!"

Sakusa marches over to the back of the kitchen and begins rooting around in a cupboard, presumably for his phone. 

"Woah, don't call the police! This is all one big misunderstanding," Atsumu pleads. 

Sakusa slams the cupboard doors and turns around, expression stormy. He takes a step towards Atsumu. Then another. And another. 

"Misunderstanding? You've been oddly insistent about me eating your onigiri the whole day, and after my repeated refusals, you bring a poisoned one right to me instead. This was clearly premeditated!" 

Sakusa has him backed up against a corner of the kitchen now. Vaguely he can hear Shouyou telling Sakusa to calm down. 

"You think I know how to make onigiri? I already told you, I just mop the floors!" Atsumu protests, trying to reason with him. "Also it's just wasabi, not rat poison or something!" 

Now that Sakusa is close enough, Atsumu realizes that he hadn't been looking for his phone in the cupboard at all. Because clutched tightly in his right hand is not a mobile phone. It's a bottle of multi-purpose cleaner.

Sakusa nails him in the face with the cleaning spray. 

Atsumu screams.

But Sakusa is still holding down the nozzle, so it ends up in his mouth. And his nose. And eyes. Now _he’s_ tearing too.

Blinded by pure ethanol, Atsumu flails and grabs wildly for a handhold, knocking over a bag of flour on a nearby counter. A mushroom cloud of gluten-free bread flour explodes in all directions. He inhales some of it and chokes. Now there’s flour _and_ Citrus Ocean Mountain Breeze in his lungs. This is obviously not a good combination, and Atsumu doubles over and gags as his feet scrabble for purchase on the now flour-caked floor. But Crocs were not built for this terrain. He goes down. 

At the exact moment he opens his mouth to scream _What the fuck!_ , Sakusa squeezes the nozzle of the spray bottle again. Atsumu shrieks. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” He manages to hack out while dry-heaving. “That thing’s toxic!”

“You’re the one who tried to poison me first!”

Now on all fours, Atsumu attempts to crawl to safety. Sakusa pursues him, disinfectant spray in hand, but he too succumbs to the deadly combination of flour and floor. From behind him, Atsumu hears an outraged yelp followed by a deafening clatter of metal cutlery hitting the ground, then a pained groan. Somewhere in the distance, Shouyou is making increasingly distressed noises.

Atsumu attempts to navigate to the back exit, his original plan of apology and making amends thrown entirely out of the window. This is a life-or-death situation now. Fuck, where is the exit?! This kitchen isn’t even that big! Unfortunately, stress is a well-known inhibitor of higher-order thinking, and Atsumu is understandably under immense amounts of stress right now. He’s on his hands and knees, crawling around on unknown territory, all while being hunted down by an angry man armed with murderous intent, surface cleaner, and a broom. Wait. When did he get that?!

Apparently, while Atsumu had been crawling around for the exit in vain, Sakusa used his infinite knowledge of the kitchen floor plan to go and equip himself with a broom. Damned home ground advantage. 

“Omi-san,” Shouyou pleads. “You can’t kill him, it’s bad for business.”

But Sakusa isn’t listening. He approaches slowly and menacingly, broomstick raised high above him and poised to strike. Atsumu cowers in terror. 

The broomstick swings. Atsumu screams. 

But the blow never comes. 

Atsumu cracks an eye open in time to witness Sakusa becoming the unwilling participant of a piggyback situation: Shouyou has all four limbs around him, ankles locked tightly around his midsection and one small hand gripping his shoulders, the other wrapped tight around his right upper arm — the broom arm.

“Hinata, let go!” Sakusa huffs, trying to shake the smaller man off. But Shouyou clings on like a limpet, valiantly embracing him like some sort of human straitjacket. He sticks his head out from around Sakusa’s shoulder, looks directly at Atsumu, and screams, “Atsumu-san, run!” 

So he does. Atsumu scrambles to his feet while Shouyou and Sakusa tussle, and legs it out of the back exit. He doesn’t stop until he crashes through the back door of Onigiri Miya, collapsing by the entrance to the kitchen. 

A shadow passes over him. He looks up. It’s Osamu, standing over him and blocking the ceiling lights from Atsumu's vision. A halo surrounds him from where he doesn't fully obscure the fluorescent lights, but angelic is not a descriptor Atsumu would use for him on a regular day, and certainly not now that he’s become the cause of all of Atsumu’s recent troubles. He stares down at Atsumu, panting for breath and covered from head to toe in flour. He’s _smirking_. 

While Atsumu isn’t a firm believer in the supernatural, he’s always had the vague feeling that they could be out there somewhere. But he now knows their existence to be a fact:

“Kunieda-san, help,” he croaks. “There’s a demon in our kitchen.”

  


△

  
  
Shouyou texts him later that night to reassure him that the cleaning spray they use at the cafe is safe to use on food preparation surfaces, so _you're fine, Atsumu-san! It shouldn't be toxic so you won't die!_ This accords him little relief, because oh, he won't die from ingesting some of that nasty spray, well isn't that nice, but there's still a chance he might fucking go blind!

Atsumu lets out a weak groan, lying on his futon with a wet towel over his very bloodshot eyes. He's not sure how much of that wetness is water from the now-melted ice pack and how much is his own fucking tears. His eyes have been leaking a continuous stream of tears, steady and unceasing. He's gonna dehydrate at this rate. 

He feels a sharp kick to his left shin. “Oi. Lemme see your eyes.”

“Ow! What the fuck do you want, bitch?”

Osamu kicks him again. Atsumu howls in pain. Gingerly, he peels off the damp cloth and tries to glare at his brother, but it hurts too damn much so he gives up on the attempt almost immediately. 

“Shit, you look terrible. Kinda like Pepe the frog, you know? What with the bulging eyes and all.”

“Fuck off, Samu. This is all your fault.” 

“Me?” Osamu has the gall to sound indignant. “I'm not the one who sprayed you like a roach.”

Atsumu raises himself up on his elbows to level a look at his twin sitting on his bed. 

“Why'd you have to go and mess with his food, man?”

Osamu shrugs. “Thought it was funny.”

“Your brother is about to go blind. Still funny to you?”

“Not my fault he overreacted,” Osamu says, then tosses a tissue box at him. “You're crying all over my floor. Clean that shit up.”

“I'm not fucking crying! WebMD said it's a side effect of the inflammation!” 

“Whatever. If you ruin the parquet and I don't get my deposit back, I'm taking it out of your pay.”

Atsumu fumes at his callousness. “Is this any way to treat your own flesh and blood?” 

“You're just an employee to me,” Osamu laughs. “Don't forget to ice it in the morning. Now shut up, I'm going to bed.”

“Fuck you. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

  


△

  
  


There's an old lady glaring at him. Honestly, Atsumu doesn't blame her. He's aware of how he looks: he's wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled down low, and he's skulking around outside The Daily Bean. But these are very necessary precautions he's taking, and he won't let the judgement of a pensioner stop him. Edging closer to the French windows, he peers into the cafe carefully. But the decreased visibility of his sunglasses needlessly complicates this endeavour, so he cautiously lowers the eyewear and takes another tentative peek into the shop. He's on the lookout for dark curly hair, and finding no sign of such, Atsumu deems it safe to enter the cafe today. 

He pushes his sunnies back up and enters the cafe. It's still early, so there's no one behind the counter yet, but as the entry bell chimes, a head of dark hair exits the kitchen. Atsumu feels his heart stop for a second, before he registers that it's not curls, but instead sleek, straight bangs. 

“Tobio-kun!” Atsumu shrieks happily, bonding towards the counter. Tobio startles slightly, before he shoots Atsumu a small smile. 

“You’re back! How’s Tonkatsu, I hope she’s alright? Shou-kun told me about it.”

“She’s doing a lot better now, thanks for asking Atsumu-san. Um, but are _you_ okay?” Tobio asks, peering curiously at Atsumu's get-up for the day. 

“I'm guessing Shouyou told you?”

“He said Sakusa-san tried to kill you.”

“Well, Tobio, the rumours are true. He did this to me,” Atsumu announces, before removing his sunglasses altogether. 

Tobio recoils, eyeing the red and raw skin of Atsumu's eyes in mute horror. He opens his mouth to say something, but Atsumu stops him. 

“Watch your next few words carefully, Tobio. Samu told me I had Steve Buscemi eyes this morning while I was brushing my teeth, so I spat toothpaste all over him.”

Tobio closes his mouth. 

“So you _were_ gonna say something rude!”

“No! Uh, I like your sunglasses.”

Atsumu doesn't fall for this cheap shot at buttering him up, not least because he knows that the sunglasses are, quite objectively, hideous. They're sports sunglasses, with an offensively bright green-to-orange gradient on the lenses, and shaped in a way that gives anyone unfortunate enough to wear them the disconcerting appearance of bug eyes. They're not even his to begin with, but instead belong to Bokuto. Or used to, anyway. Atsumu had borrowed them once upon a time, and just never got round to returning them. He's had them for so long that they've circled round to being his now. Akaashi, Bokuto's fiance, had seemed rather pleased with this development, which is how Atsumu knows that the shades are truly horrendous. If Akaashi, proud owner of a pair of horrible plasticky frames, deems a pair of eyewear to be unwearable, then there really is no hope for said eyeglasses. 

“Nice try, Tobio. But I can always tell when you're lying.”

Tobio shoots him a sheepish look. Atsumu beams. 

“Man, I am so glad to have you back Tobi-kun, you have no idea how awful the past two mornings were with Omi-Omi. He sucks!”

Tobio pauses in the middle of ringing up Atsumu’s order, which Atsumu hadn’t needed to tell him, because Tobio already knows what he’s going to order, because they’re friends, and oh, he’s giving him the friend discount too, Atsumu’s so happy to have Tobio back that he could possibly cry right now. 

“Sakusa-san took my morning shifts?”

“Yeah. Tall, really pale, perpetually looks like somebody shat in his cereal? That’s him.”

Tobio frowns. “That’s weird. I thought Komori-san would have covered for me.”

Just then, the curtain leading to the kitchen parts, and an orange head pokes through. “That’s because Komori-san is over in Kyoto, looking at beans. Dummy.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Tobio grumbles.

Shouyou makes an exasperated noise. “You’d know that, if you read our group chat. Jeez, you're like a grandpa who doesn't know how to use his phone.” He punctuates this by sticking his tongue out at Tobio.

Tobio growls, grabbing Shouyou’s hair and giving it a sharp yank. Shouyou squawks indignantly. 

“Stop, I’m gonna go bald! You’re so mean, Yamayama-kun!” 

“That’s what you get for being an annoying dumbass,” Tobio mutters. Strangely, the tips of his ears are pink. Interesting. Atsumu catalogues this observation away to be revisited when Shouyou isn't around. 

“Anyway, isn’t Sakusa-san the one in charge of buying our coffee beans?" Tobio inquires as he works the coffee grinder. "How come Komori-san went this time?”

“Oh _man_. They had a whole fight about that. You weren’t here when it happened, so it was just me and them. I hid in the kitchen the entire time and stress-baked.”

Atsumu recalls receiving plenty of complimentary scones and quiches when he’d visited one particular day a while back. Now he knows why.

“Apparently our supplier wants to raise prices, so someone had to go down and discuss stuff with them. Omi-san said he should go, ‘cause you know how he gets about stuff like that. He’s always going on about the importance of being involved every step of the way, 'from bean to roast' and all that, you know? But then Komori-san said Omi-san’s 'too abrasive to handle sensitive discussions' so then they started arguing. Eventually Komori-san won though, which is why he’s in Kyoto now and Omi-san isn't.”

"No offence, but your boss sounds like a real micromanager," Atsumu says. 

“Oh, he is!” Shouyou snickers. “Komori-san is always doing things without telling him, and it drives him completely up the wall. Oh! Talking about people who annoy him, he was _really_ mad yesterday after you left.”

"Shit. Sorry for leaving you in the lurch.”

“No, it's okay. He wasn't mad at _me_ , so it's fine. But man, he was totally fuming while cleaning up the flour,” Shouyou explains, shuddering at the recollection. “You might wanna avoid him for awhile.”

“Believe me, that has always been my intention,” Atsumu chuckles as he accepts the drink Tobio hands him. “God I hope I don't see him anytime soon.”

  


△

  
  
Unfortunately for Atsumu, his plans are thwarted the very next day.

Having Tobio back as his regular barista for one day had somehow lulled Atsumu into a false sense of security, and emboldened by this assurance, Atsumu confidently pushes open the glass doors and strides into the cafe, fully expecting to see his favourite barista again. 

It’s not Tobio who’s behind the counter, but fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi. Oh, and Komori’s here too. 

"Going incognito today? Maybe you should try something less obnoxious,” Sakusa sneers at his sunglasses, which Atsumu had had to wear all throughout his lectures yesterday and today, like a prick. All because of Sakusa.

Atsumu bristles. “If you’re looking for an apology, maybe try being nicer to me.” 

“I'm not expecting you to apologize. Because I’m not going to, either.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a tense silence, where neither parties are willing to break eye contact. It stretches uncomfortably long. Finally, Atsumu gives in. 

“Can I have my usual order?”

Sakusa narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what your usual order is.”

“Liar. I order the same thing every time.”

“I’ve only served you twice.”

“Taking note of how often I drop by? What, do you have a crush on me or something?”

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t flatter yourself. Now tell me your stupid order or you’re not getting any coffee.”

“Do you want me to shut up or tell you my order? You’re sending mixed signals here, Omi.”

Sakusa growls. “Motoya. Handle this idiot, please.”

Komori lets out an undignified squawk as Sakusa grabs him by the shoulders and manhandles him into trading places with him. He recovers quickly from his surprise, however, and flashes Atsumu a broad grin. 

“Oh, are we going with the usual iced black coffee again?” Komori taps his chin thoughtfully. “Hey, Atsumu, how would you like to try something different for a change this time?”

Sakusa tuts. “Motoya, if a customer asks for a particular drink, don’t fucking advertise something else.”

Komori rolls his eyes. “Look, Kiyoomi. While I was on my travels—”

“You were on a two-day work trip to Kyoto.”

“—I spent a great deal of time commuting—”

“I booked you a ticket for a _bullet train_ ,” Sakusa hisses.

“—so naturally I turned to social media to keep me entertained. And the algorithm happened to suggest me a video of a very interesting drink!”

“I don’t like where this is going already,” Sakusa mutters. 

Ignoring his cousin, Komori turns back to Atsumu, eyes shining. “How about it, eh? I’ll fix you this drink and you can let me know how it tastes.”

“Don’t just sell stuff that’s not on the menu!” Sakusa barks.

“Ooh, do you hear that? This means it’s a _secret menu item!_ ” Komori says in a hushed whisper directed at Atsumu, hand cupped to his cheek like he's sharing highly confidential information.

Atsumu furrows his brows in uncertainty. “Uh, I don’t know if—”

“Yep. Making it!”

With that, Komori disappears into the kitchen. There’s an indignant squeak that is unmistakably Shouyou, and then he reappears with a large mixing bowl and an electric hand mixer. Komori flits across the space behind the counter, dropping the bowl with a dull clang onto the marble worktop. He hums thoughtfully as he inspects the power outlet, then mutters an _eenie meenie miney mo_ and yanks out a cord. The light in the pastry display case goes off. 

“What are you doing?!” Sakusa yells. “You can’t just unplug things at random! What if you accidentally shut off the espresso machine? It needs to maintain a constant temperature at all times!”

Komori lets out an exaggerated sigh as he connects the hand mixer to the outlet. “Oh Kiyoomi, you worry too much.”

Then he reaches into the pocket of his apron and produces a sachet. Sakusa immediately rips it out of his hand. 

“Is this fucking instant coffee? I’m gonna kill you,” he growls.

Komori simply reaches into his pocket for another sachet. “You’ll have to get in line for that.”

“Where did you even get this from?” Sakusa demands. “I better not find a stash of these somewhere in here.”

“Nah, I snagged them from the Holiday Inn breakfast buffet.”

Atsumu is appalled. “Are you _charging_ me for this?”

Komori doesn’t answer him, ripping open the sachet and dumping the coffee powder into the mixing bowl. Then he digs around in his pocket yet again like he’s fucking Doraemon or something, and fishes out a sugar packet, the contents of which he also adds to the bowl. Sakusa tries to object as Komori turns his attention to the espresso machine, but Komori aggressively elbows him out of the way and dispenses hot water from the machine into his bowl.

Sakusa scowls. “You’re literally just making a shitty instant coffee, don’t you dare—”

His next words are cut off by the whir of the hand mixer, which Komori sticks into the bowl. The whisk attachment scrapes unpleasantly against the metal of the mixing bowl.

“What did you say?” Komori yells over the noise. 

Sakusa throws his hands up in defeat, resigning himself to just watching as Komori splatters himself and the counter with the coffee mixture. Atsumu had been mildly interested at first, but now he really doesn’t want whatever it is that Komori’s making. 

After awhile, Komori seems satisfied with the consistency of what he’s created, so he switches off the mixer. Then he messily pours out a glass of milk, much of it splashing around and outside the cup, and follows that up by tossing ice cubes haphazardly into the glass. More milk goes flying in all directions. Wholly unbothered by the mess he’s creating, Komori scoops out the coffee froth from the bowl and spoons it over the milk. When he’s done, he tosses the spoon over his shoulder. If he had been aiming for the sink, he misses spectacularly. The utensil goes sailing through the air, leaving a disgruntled Sakusa to catch it but not before splattering him with leftover coffee foam. He shoots Komori a mutinous look, but Komori remains blissfully unaware, enthusiastically presenting the drink to a bewildered Atsumu. 

“I believe they call this a dalgona coffee,” he says cheerfully.

Atsumu frowns. “Sorry, I don’t—”

“You are _not_ serving instant coffee to a customer,” Sakusa seethes, swiping the drink away from Komori.

He stomps away to pour it down the sink, but Komori wrestles it out of his grip. 

“Sheesh, fine! I’ll drink it myself,” Komori grumbles. 

Sakusa looks aghast. “What kind of image are you projecting as a cafe owner who drinks instant coffee?”

Komori takes a swig of his coffee, which leaves him with a foam moustache. “Atsumu, who do you think is the bigger lover of coffee: someone who appreciates coffee in any form, or the guy who exclusively drinks organic, fair trade coffee?”

Both cousins stare at him intently, awaiting his response. _What the hell, man._ He just wanted a coffee! And now he’s stuck in the middle of a domestic dispute. Atsumu fidgets uncomfortably, eyes darting between both of them.

He’s saved from having to provide an answer by Shouyou, who appears from the kitchen and crossly demands for the return of his hand mixer. That’s two times he’s been saved by Shouyou now. Yeah, Atsumu’s totally getting him that cheesecake he likes from the store with the hour-long queue.

“Komori-san! I was making a pavlova! You can’t just keep stealing kitchen equipment from me all the time!”

“Well you see Shouyou, when inspiration strikes I just have to act upon it,” Komori whines.

“Not when I’m making a pavlova!”

As Komori grouses apologetically to Shouyou, and Sakusa berates Komori for his sloppiness in drink preparation, Atsumu slips away unnoticed. He’s going to have to get a FamilyMart coffee today, but it’s still infinitely better than whatever harebrained drink Komori creates on the fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry atsumu for the pun in the chapter title 
> 
> i wrote the first part of this chapter before furudate's itachiyama memento mori thing dropped and then i saw it on twitter and i couldn't stop laughing when i reread what i'd written, like sakusa gearing up to smack the living daylights out of him with a broom is quite actually atsumu's memento mori
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	4. The Watermelon Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which several terrible revelations are had

“So, Tobio. Do you like Shou-kun or something?” Atsumu asks, steepling his fingers under his chin.

Tobio stumbles, fumbling with the drink in his hand and nearly dropping it entirely. 

“Wha— no! That scrub? No! Never!”

So, it’s a yes then. 

Atsumu winks at him. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, Tobio-kun!”

“I’m not worrying! Because there’s nothing to worry about! I do not like Hinata!”

His ears have gone bright red. Atsumu simply smiles at him like the cat that got the cream. 

“Stop bothering me, Atsumu-san!” Tobio splutters. “I’m working!”

Yeah, right. Sure, Tobio is currently on shift and there are other customers in here, but Atsumu feels little remorse considering there’s still another barista on duty. Speaking of whom, Sakusa has been huddled over at the corner of the counter peering intently at a laptop ever since Atsumu stepped in. He’s made no move to acknowledge Atsumu’s presence but he’s not complaining, given their track record of less-than-civil exchanges. From the glimpses Atsumu has chanced at his laptop screen when he isn’t looking, he seems to be poring through an Excel sheet of sorts, meticulously colour-coded and swimming with numbers. _He’s tracking expenses_ , Tobio had confided in him conspiratorially. _I think he’s keeping tabs on the whole bean situation._ Atsumu marvels at how calm he seems for someone doing finances. 

See, over at Onigiri Miya, the bookkeeping situation is a little _different_. It usually starts with Osamu downing a can of beer, then sitting down with a laptop to stare at an Excel sheet (not colour-coded, blank) like if he stares hard enough the numbers will appear in front of him. After twenty minutes of this nonsense, he inevitably gives up and calls Aran like he’s a contestant on a gameshow using his phone-a-friend helpline, except those contestants don’t call the same friend three times in a row, decibels raising in desperation with each successive call. Eventually Aran gets fed up, or has to go write a dissertation or cure cancer or whatever it is that he does at grad school, and then Osamu has to pull out the big guns. 

He downs his second beer at this point, steels his nerves, and calls Kita for help. Now, the problem isn’t that Kita doesn’t help, but it’s the fact that he provides help in much the same way a parent might help their child with math homework. That is, when the call ends, Osamu has a filled Excel sheet but also no more self-esteem. This is when he consumes his body weight in onigiri, chugs a third can of beer, and then video-calls Suna while close to tears. He then whines about how no one told him running a restaurant would involve this many numbers and decimal points, to which he’s consoled with the reminder that he has to persevere so that Suna can become his trophy husband immediately upon graduating college. 

It’s so ludicrous, and should not work as well as it does, but Suna’s words somehow manage to encourage Osamu everytime, because they’re both idiots, and it is usually at this point that Atsumu goes to stare at a wall because being reminded that he might soon be related to Suna is never a welcome thought to have. 

So he’s _very_ impressed that the tracking of finances for The Daily Bean is a one-man affair, and said man actually looks very composed and not at all on the verge of an emotional breakdown. The only sign of him being troubled at all is just a slight furrow to his brows. 

“Omi-san,” Shouyou’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “When are we getting a new hand mixer?”

Atsumu turns to see Shouyou step out of the kitchen toting a large mixing bowl, lips twisted in displeasure. 

Sakusa looks up from his laptop. “Motoya said he’ll buy a replacement soon.”

Shouyou lets out a loud sigh. “Yeah, but it’s Komori-san. ‘Soon’ can mean anytime from this afternoon to a month away.”

“I’ll tell him to hurry up,” Sakusa says, grimacing.

“I’m making macarons today, and I can’t beat these egg whites by hand,” Shouyou grumbles, gesturing unhappily at the bowl in his hands. 

“What happened to your hand mixer, Shou-kun?" Atsumu enquires curiously. "It seemed fine when Motoya-kun was using it that day."

“Komori-san broke the hand mixer making one too many dalgona coffees,” Tobio snickers.

“You think this is funny, Kageyama?” Shouyou snaps, scowling. I can’t even use the stand mixer because I’m using it for the sourdough!”

“Just use a hand whisk, dumbass. Your scrawny arms could use the workout anyway.”

 _Nice one, Tobio,_ Atsumu thinks sardonically. _That’s how you win the heart of the guy you like._

Shouyou glowers. “If you’re so strong and beefy then why don’t you do it!”

“Fine, I will. Give it over,” Tobio says, reaching for the bowl. Shouyou steps back swiftly.

“Wait, no. I don’t trust you. I just spent a long time separating the yolks, and I don’t wanna have to do it again when you mess up.”

“You think I don’t know how to beat some eggs? I’ve helped my sister to bake before, I’m not an idiot.”

Shouyou eyes him suspiciously, then slowly passes the bowl to him. Then he fetches a whisk from the kitchen and hands that to him too. 

“Go on, then. Prove that you’re ‘not an idiot’. Also if you mess this up I’ll tell Komori-san that you love Mystery Milkshake Monday and that he should keep hosting them just for you.”

Tobio shoots Shouyou a resentful look. “That’s not funny Hinata. You know what his milkshakes do to my stomach lining.”

Shouyou grins menacingly. “Then you better not mess this up.”

Tobio grunts, then quickly gets to work. He angles the whisk and begins beating away.

“This is easy, you scrub. The trick is to tuck your elbows close to your body,” Tobio says, concentrating on the contents of the bowl.

“You’ve been beating for thirty seconds. Keep going for another ten minutes then we’ll talk,” Shouyou snipes.

“When I’m done you’re gonna be unemployed, loser. Look at me, doing a better job than our in-house patissier!”

Atsumu can’t believe how bad Tobio is at this whole romance thing.

“Yeah, yeah. Are your muscles tired yet? Need a break?” Shouyou goads, staring intently at Tobio. "We can pause to add the sugar in if you need one."

“As if. I'll just fold it in at the end. Do you need stiff peaks or soft peaks?” Tobio grunts out.

“Stiff. As stiff as the meringue can get,” Shouyou mumbles out, stare still transfixed on something. “You know what? Just keep beating till I say when.”

 _Oh, dear god._ Atsumu finally realizes what Shouyou has been laser-focused on for the past few minutes. 

It's Tobio's arm. 

Specifically, his bicep. Which is bulging from the exertion of beating the eggs. 

_He's staring at Tobio's muscles._

Atsumu can't believe this. Tobio may be shit at flirting, but things are somehow still working out for him, by virtue of the fact that he, well, works out. Atsumu has seen enough, wishing he was still half-blind with disinfectant so he wouldn't have to witness this terrible scene.

Mercifully, his attention is diverted by the arrival of Komori, who saunters into the store clutching a large box. 

"Gentlemen!" He announces loudly, unheeding of the stares he accumulates from the customers present. "It is with great pleasure that I present to you our new hand mixer!"

"You were supposed to get that yesterday," Sakusa snipes, not bothering to look up from his laptop.

"Out of the goodness of my heart, I will be paying for this from my own pocket," Komori says haughtily.

"I'd expect nothing less, considering you were the one who broke it," Sakusa points out.

Komori opts to ignore this, and instead hollers for Shouyou because _Santa came early this year!_

"Don't bother," Atsumu says. "Shouyou's discovered the wonders of a manual hand mixer."

Komori turns to stare at the duo in question. "Ah," is all he says after a moment.

"It's like watching the start of a really bad porno," Atsumu muses.

Komori throws his hands in the air. “Finally! Someone else sees it too!”

"I can't watch this any longer," Atsumu admits.

“God, you have no idea what it's like for me," Komori grumbles. "I _work_ with these guys.”

"My condolences."

“And the worst part of it all is that Kiyoomi pretends not to see anything. Who am I meant to gossip with!”

“It’s alright, Motoya-kun. You have me now,” Atsumu says, clasping Komori’s hand with both of his. Komori flashes a grateful smile.

"Both of you, shut up," Sakusa mutters from his perch in the corner. "I'm crunching numbers, I need you to be quiet."

“I can't be quiet when your employees are canoodling right in front of me," Atsumu complains.

Sakusa looks up at him in disinterest. “Please do not indulge in rumours that might make my employees uncomfortable.”

“They're making _me_ uncomfortable!" Atsumu complains, jabbing an accusing finger at the two offenders in question. 

"Seriously, I don't see what you were complaining about," Tobio gloats. "This is too easy."

"Mm. Maybe you should beat all the eggs I need from now on," Shouyou says distractedly, still gazing very intently at Tobio's bicep. He's gripping the bowl of sugar in his hands tight enough that his knuckles have gone white. "Maybe Komori-san shouldn't get that replacement mixer after all." 

Komori, clutching the new hand mixer paid for with his own money, protests loudly.

"They're always like that," Sakusa says dismissively to Atsumu, turning his attention back to his laptop. “Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you of all people would be this invested in expanding the local rumour mill.”

Atsumu makes an affronted noise. “Omi, I _am_ the rumour mill. Without me, the rumour market would collapse — no, it would simply _cease to exist._ ”

Sakusa wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sure this is something you should be proud of.”

"What do you mean? It's my life's greatest achievement." 

"You're ridiculous," Sakusa mutters, keying something into his laptop. 

Well, then. Doesn't seem like he'll get much of a conversation out of him today. At least he's got confirmation that they're back to slinging insults rather than going straight for the neck, which is the closest they'll get to being actually civil with each other. For some strange reason Atsumu feels relieved to know that Sakusa doesn't actually hate him, which is weird because normally Atsumu couldn't care less if someone dislikes him. No, wait. It's not weird. Because Atsumu's still holding out hope that one day Sakusa will give him the friend discount. Yeah, that's as big an incentive as any to get into Sakusa's good books. 

  


△

  
  


Atsumu has a problem. 

So, twenty minutes ago he’d wandered out of Onigiri Miya to go feed the stray cats in the area. Yes, Atsumu is _that_ guy. But business has been really slow lately for some reason, and he doesn’t really have anything to do (this is a lie, he has a term paper to turn in, but he’s refusing to think about that right now) so armed with some salmon Osamu wasn’t using anymore, he went looking for the felines. 

Atsumu has grown particularly attached to the three strays, even taking it upon himself to name them. They’re Watermelon, Rocket Launcher, and Anthony, if anyone’s wondering. Unfortunately only Anthony actually responds when called; Rocket and Watermelon like playing hard-to-get.

Now, the problem is that he can't find the cats. He wanders through their usual haunts, the same back alleys and dumpsters they like napping upon, but no luck. They’re elusive creatures, and Atsumu only has about a seventy percent success rate in locating them on average. Still, he’s somewhat miffed when he goes back to the store. Which is when he sees someone dressed in black and crouching in the back alley of Onigiri Miya.

Naturally, Atsumu assumes this person to be a cat burglar. No, like, in the literal sense. The person has cornered the neighbourhood cats, and although he doesn’t know what their intentions are, he has no doubt that they’re bad ones. Why? Because Atsumu has a natural mistrust of strangers, that's why. It used to be his mother’s favourite talking point when they were younger. _Oh_ , she’d say, _Atsumu knows not to trust a stranger! How clever! Osamu on the other hand… You could kidnap that boy with half a yakitori stick. I worry for him sometimes..._

See that was when they were kids though. These days it’s more _“I do wish you would turn up to those blind dates I set up for you, Atsumu”_ and less _“I’m so glad you actively avoid putting yourself into situations where you’re forced to interact with someone you’ve never met before and engage in meaningless social niceties in the pursuit of a concept as nebulous and arbitrary as love”._ But he digresses. 

Just as Atsumu is about to pounce on the stranger (he’s got this, he has the element of surprise) for the crime they’re no doubt committing, the stranger shifts slightly and Atsumu realizes with a jolt that it’s Sakusa. Also, he’s not actually committing a crime. He’s just feeding the cats. This finding is somehow more upsetting than if he was an actual feline felon. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Atsumu demands, marching up to him and planting his hands on his hips in a gesture meant to convey aggression. He needs to send a message.

Sakusa glances up at him, and his lips twist like he’s just had a very sour candy. Then he jerks his chin at the half-opened can of tuna in his hands and stares pointedly at Atsumu. 

“You can’t be feeding them! They’re picky about who they trust,” Atsumu grumbles. 

This is not true. The trio are actually very friendly, so long as you’ve got food. Basically, just like Osamu. 

“Are you sure about that?” Sakusa asks, quirking an eyebrow. Then he reaches out a hand towards Watermelon, who happily head butts the proffered limb. Traitor. 

While he’s busy processing this betrayal, Sakusa places the now fully-opened canned tuna in front of the cats, who begin attacking the fish with a fervour that communicates starvation and deprivation. The damned drama queens. Atsumu knows for a fact that the local florist already fed them this morning when she updated the group chat. 

“Whatever, you still shouldn't feed them. They have a feeding schedule. You’re gonna mess it up,” Atsumu declares. 

This _is_ true. Sometime ago Tobio set up a Line group chat for the neighbourhood cat feeders where they update each other if they’ve fed the cats already to avoid overfeeding them, and to ensure that the cats can be found during feeding times. Atsumu’s in the group, of course. Sakusa obviously isn’t. He pauses where he’s scratching Tony behind the ears, and looks at Atsumu. 

“I checked with Kageyama. They’ve only been fed once today,” he says nonchalantly. “Also he expressed discontent at the fact that you’ve been feeding the cats without him.”

Atsumu splutters. Is Tobio gossipping about him behind his back now?!

“It’s for his own good!” he declares hotly. “Everytime we go and feed the cats together he tries to take them home and I’m the one who has to chase him down when he runs off with the cats in his arms!”

While feeding the cats is always more fun with someone else, for Tobio every feeding session somehow devolves into a masterclass in self-restraint, and Atsumu eventually stopped inviting him out of pity and consideration for his emotional wellbeing. 

“Like what’s his plan even supposed to be? He’s already got one cat living illegally in his apartment, if he brings home three more I’m pretty sure he’s gonna get evicted!”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, then sets out another can of tuna for the cats. Not one to be outdone, Atsumu quickly places his container of salmon on the ground alongside the tuna. Salmon’s way more expensive than tuna, surely they’ll pick his right? 

Wrong. Cats have no concept of monetary value. 

Atsumu watches in abject betrayal as they ignore him entirely in favour of Sakusa, who runs his hand across Watermelon’s back as she devours the fish. Unbelievable. She doesn’t even let Atsumu do that and he’s been feeding her for two years now! If it weren’t for the intensity at which they’re lapping up the food, they would probably even be purring. Atsumu huffs.

“Tony,” he coos. “C’mere! I brought some salmon, you love salmon don’t you? Yes you do!”

Sakusa squints at him. “Tony...?”

“Yeah, short for Anthony,” Atsumu replies distractedly, trying to entice the feline with a hunk of fish.

“But...they’re all girls…?”

Okay, fine, so Atsumu fucked up. He’d named Tony without first verifying if she was a she and not a he, but by the time he realized, he’d already gotten attached to the name and so Tony it was. 

“Sorry I’m not a weirdo who goes around looking at cats’ genitals,” Atsumu grumbles. 

Sakusa makes an offended noise. “What — Tony’s a shit name for a cat anyway!”

“Oh yeah? Like you can do any better?” 

Sakusa narrows his eyes at him, then without breaking eye contact, calls out, “Odette, come here.”

Atsumu watches in horror as Tony pads over to him, instantly rewarded with chin scritches.

“You named my cat _Odette?!_ ”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “She’s not yours. She belongs to no one. Isn’t that right, Odie? You’re an independent young lady aren’t you?” 

Tony chirrups happily, then flops over needily to receive more scratches on the belly. Independent, his ass. 

“Please don’t tell me you’ve also named the other two some terrible period drama names,” Atsumu begs. 

Sakusa glares at him. “Edith, sweet, come here for me will you?”

Atsumu can only watch in disbelief as Watermelon responds to him. She doesn’t come over, but she does look up at the name, ears twitching in curiosity. Atsumu staggers back in disbelief, before sinking to his knees. Watermelon...not you too…

Burying his face in his hands, Atsumu lets out a long sigh. “Fine. Call the last cat. Do your worst.”

Sakusa lets out a huff of air in what has to be the poorest rendition of a laugh Atsumu has ever seen, then coos at Rocket Launcher.

“Portia,” he calls, and the little traitor comes. 

“Rocket Launcher, I raised you to be better than this,” Atsumu chastises. 

She meows back, because she is a cat. 

“Rocket Laun — Miya, that is the most horrible pet name I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh yeah? Samu calls his boyfriend ‘sunshine’ even though the guy’s straight up nocturnal. _That’s_ gotta be the fuckin’ worst.”

Sakusa stares at him in bafflement for a second, before he laughs. “Okay, if we’re discussing those kinds of pet names then yes, I’ve heard worse than Rocket Launcher.”

“Glad we could come to an agreement,” Atsumu scoffs. 

They play with the cats for awhile more, and Atsumu finds himself strangely…enjoying Sakusa's company? He reasons with himself that he probably just misses having a companion for these feeding sessions. Yeah, that must be it. It’s not the man, it’s just what he represents.

Sakusa laughs as he tries to coax the little demons into eating the salmon he brought (Tony and Rocket dig in, but Watermelon, the most unloyal gremlin, contents herself with curling up beside Sakusa for more head pats). When all the fish have been devoured clean, and the cats begin to stretch and yawn, Sakusa meticulously cleans his hands with an antibacterial wet wipe, and then reaches into his back pocket for a bottle of hand sanitizer. That’s when Atsumu makes his first important discovery: Sakusa’s hand sanitizer is shaped like a Sanrio character.

Atsumu knows this because Suna's younger sister had sat him down in his third year of high school to lecture him on the complexities of Sanrio character design. According to her, having her older brother's boyfriend be ignorant to “the significant aesthetic contributions of the Sanrio company to kawaii culture” was apparently “shameful” and “unforgivable”. It did not, in fact, occur to her once throughout the entire two-hour tirade that she had accosted the wrong twin entirely. Or maybe she did know, and just thought Atsumu would make for a funnier victim. He wouldn’t put it past the little terror, she _is_ her brother’s sister after all. 

In any case, Atsumu now (begrudgingly) knows every single Sanrio character by heart, and can even tell you the name of Hello Kitty's boyfriend (she's a fucking cat, why does she need a boyfriend?), so he's certain beyond a shred of doubt as to the identity of the little character clutched in Sakusa’s hand.

“Is that fucking Kuromi?”

Sakusa narrows his eyes at him. “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

Yes, Atsumu does. Apparently the very serious and no-nonsense Sakusa Kiyoomi, who eats old-people umeboshi onigiri and gives cats old-timey names, happens to be a Sanrio fan who owns Kuromi merchandise. Granted, it’s a hand sanitizer so it still serves a practical purpose, but still. Sakusa likes Sanrio. What. 

This revelation is fundamentally so jarring to the impression Atsumu already has of the man that it’s all he can do to watch in shock as Sakusa uncaps the bottle and dispenses a generous dollop of sanitizer onto his hand. Second important discovery: Sakusa’s hand sanitizer is watermelon-scented. The combination of both findings leaves Atsumu reeling. There’s something just so oddly, dare he say it, cute, about it all, and so at odds with Sakusa’s general demeanor that he has a hard time processing this newfound knowledge. Sakusa either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care for Atsumu’s inner turmoil, too busy rubbing his hands together with an intensity rivalling the most demented of raccoons. 

Sakusa catches Atsumu staring at him in wide-eyed shock and misinterprets it for bewilderment at his hand sanitizer application method.

“What?” He says defensively. “They’re alley cats, Miya. They’re crawling with germs.”

Atsumu gasps loudly, then claps both hands over Tony’s ears. “Don’t listen to him! You’re perfect the way you are!”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. When he’s done slathering his hands in enough alcohol to more so drown than denature any bacteria present on his hands, Atsumu sticks his own hand out. While he doesn't particularly care about germs, he does want in on some of that watermelon goodness. But Sakusa simply glares at his hand like it personally offends him. 

“No.”

“Aw, why not, Omi-Omi?”

“Because it’s expensive.”

Atsumu scoffs. “It’s hand sanitizer, how expensive can it be?”

“It’s collector’s edition.”

Holy shit. Sakusa doesn’t just happen to own Kuromi merch, he _actively collects_ them. Atsumu gawks at him, arm still stretched in mid-air like a video game character buffering. 

Sakusa relents, sighing noisily as he squeezes out watermelon solution from the top of Kuromi's head into Atsumu's waiting palm. The visual of it is very much suggestive of brain juice being tipped out of the head of one of Sanrio's most beloved mascots. Atsumu can't say he particularly enjoys it, and would sincerely like to provide constructive criticism to the designer of this particular packaging. 

"Can't believe I'm wasting limited edition sanitizer on you," Sakusa grumbles. 

"It's not a waste, Omi-kun," Atsumu sings, batting his eyelashes at him. "Kuromi should be honored to have her cerebral fluid be on my hands." 

The sour candy face is back once more, and Sakusa swiftly turns away from him. 

"You," he huffs over his shoulder. "Are so fucking weird." 

Atsumu simply laughs in response. 

"Wait up, Omi-Omi!" He calls, skipping after him. "We're headed in the same direction!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lurked on baby name websites to find downtown abbey type names for the cats and now im getting targeted ads for baby products 🗿
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	5. You’re Invited to The Rice Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sakusa had his go, now it's atsumu's turn to bully him back. meanwhile, osamu runs into a problem. komori offers assistance (?).

After the hand sanitizer incident, Atsumu decides that Sakusa is alright, actually. This isn’t to say that he’s particularly pleasant or anything. He’s still a huge snob who thinks gossipping is stupid, and he can be kind of a bitch, but for the most part Atsumu finds him to be tolerable. He also seems to be drinking something different every time Atsumu visits, and Atsumu, who knows very little about coffee, but is infinitely inquisitive, asks him what he's drinking each time. At first he'd been reluctant to entertain his queries, but Atsumu pestered him until he relented. These days he not only tells him the name of the drink, but also supplies a short explanation on how it's made. Atsumu suspects Sakusa actually secretly enjoys having these opportunities to nerd out over coffee. 

And so Atsumu has begun to acquire a rather substantial knowledge on common cafe drinks, starting with the finding that his usual order is actually something called an americano. He would have discarded this piece of knowledge without a second thought if not for how hoity-toity Sakusa had been when presenting him with this bit of information: _”How do you not know this, Miya? You guzzle this everyday and you don’t even know what it’s called?”_

In Atsumu’s defence, he’d always just called it a black coffee and no one had corrected him. But Atsumu had been so offended by Sakusa’s condescending tone that he immediately seared the drink name into his memory out of spite. 

Other useless coffee factoids he’s acquired include how a long black and an americano both involve shots of espresso and water, with the only difference being the order in which they're added to the cup. Although Sakusa had insisted that the order matters, this ultimately feels like a bit of a scam to Atsumu, not unlike that whole debate about whether cereal or milk goes first. As far as he's concerned, you're still eating the same bowl of cornflake soup at the end of the day, so the order makes no difference. 

( _"Please don't tell me you add milk first," Sakusa begs._

_"Neither. I eat my cereal dry, but if it's too dry I might add a little tap water."_

_"What the fuck is wrong with you?"_ ) 

Atsumu doesn’t actually do this, he just likes messing with Sakusa. The man has very little tolerance for nonsense, while Atsumu’s gifted with an immense propensity for spewing drivel, which naturally makes him the perfect victim to Atsumu’s bullshit babbling. 

In any case, Atsumu has started gravitating towards Sakusa whenever he visits the cafe. Still, it would be too generous to credit Sakusa’s affability for this development when Shouyou and Tobio are the main reason for this in the first place. See, much to Atsumu’s (and ostensibly everyone’s) great dismay, the pair have upped the ante on whatever weird courtship ritual they have going on, and Atsumu finds himself walking in on more of these unsavory scenes than he would like (read: none). As such, Atsumu is forced to approach the other barista on shift whenever this occurs, which has unfortunately been happening with increasing frequency of late.

On this particular day when Atsumu steps into the cafe, the situation appears entirely in line with this recent trend. The tableau today features Shouyou cajoling Tobio into being his taste-tester. This by itself is nothing strange; almost everyone has taste-tested for Shouyou at some point. The problem, however, lies in the disturbing fact that Shouyou has taken it upon himself to personally feed Tobio from his fingers. Atsumu quickly averts his eyes from the spectacle and makes a beeline for where Sakusa has positioned himself as far away from the duo as the space behind the counter permits, his gaze resolutely fixed on the French windows to avoid making eye contact with his two employees.

Sakusa notices his approach and puts down the drink he’s been nursing. It makes a soft _clink_ as he sets it down on the worktop. They very determinedly avoid the elephant in the room, two meters away to be exact. 

“Miya. What can I get you?”

“Come on, you know my order by now,” Atsumu whines. 

“I do not.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes, entirely unconvinced. Sakusa shrugs, and simply takes a sip from his drink, a tall glass filled with ice and what looks to be black coffee. 

“You're drinking my usual order right now," Atsumu points out.

Sakusa pauses with the metal straw halfway to his lips, then frowns lightly and places the glass back down.

"An iced americano and a cold brew are not the same thing." 

“Okay, ignoring the fact that you clearly know my regular order, how are the two of them any different?” Atsumu challenges.

“I don't know your order," Sakusa deadpans. "And a cold brew is coffee that’s steeped in cold water, while an iced coffee is prepared with hot water, and then poured over ice.”

"All I’m hearing is that they're both coffee that's cold and that's got ice in them. Sounds to me like they’re the same thing!”

Sakusa’s eyebrow twitches. “Miya, please. You sound uneducated.” 

“Potato, potato.”

Except he says it as _potayto_ both times.

“You’re not supposed to say it the same way twice,” Sakusa points out.

“I thought you were the coffee expert, since when did you become the potato expert too?” Atsumu challenges.

Sakusa makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat. Atsumu, resting his elbows on the counter, steeples his fingers and rests his chin atop his fingers. He makes sure to give Sakusa the most infuriating look he can muster. Sakusa scowls, then goes off to make his drink before Atsumu has a chance to properly gloat. 

While that’s happening, Atsumu’s eyes drift over to Tobio and Shouyou despite his better judgement. It’s kind of like watching a car accident in that way, entirely awful yet you find yourself unable to look away. Watching them dance around each other is made way worse by the revelation that despite their aggressive flirting, the pair are, very bizarrely, wholly unaware of their mutual attraction to each other.

( _“He’s got absolutely no idea,” Komori says, licking a spoon of something blue. Apparently he’s experimenting with new smoothie flavours. The Daily Bean doesn’t even sell smoothies._

_“No way, even with the way Shouyou-kun straight up ogles him?”_

_“Yep,” Komori says, popping the ‘p’. “The kid’s totally oblivious.”_

_“What about Shouyou? He’s gotta realize right?” Atsumu demands._

_“Nah, you give him too much credit. He’s just as thick as Kageyama is.”_ )

Komori’s convinced that the two are hopeless. Atsumu can’t say he disagrees.

“Oh, you got some on the edge of your mouth, hold on—”

Atsumu watches in reluctant fascination as Shouyou swipes at the corner of Tobio’s lip with a thumb, then sticks it into his own mouth. His stare lingers on Tobio’s lips. Tobio appears unbothered by this, too distracted by the food.

“Could use less sugar,” he mumbles thoughtfully, gaze pointed skyward as he chews slowly. 

“Too sweet?” Shouyou asks disappointedly, face turning serious all at once.

Tobio glances at him then, and seems to suddenly realize the proximity of their faces. He leaps back. “Y-yeah. Too sweet,” he mutters, face colouring.

Shouyou, who just a minute ago had been staring at Tobio’s face with half-lidded eyes, now frowns impressively, hand rubbing his chin in contemplation as he quietly mumbles to himself.

“I thought I cut back on the sugar already...maybe I should go with a higher percentage of cocoa next time? Or coffee extract? The extra bitterness might help…”

Deep in pensive thought, he slowly wanders back into the kitchen, leaving a flushed Tobio behind. Atsumu so desperately wants to yell in their faces to just kiss already, goddammit. But while Atsumu is known for lacking tact and being generally too nosy for his own good, this is one boundary he's not willing to cross. Yeah, he's a man of loose morals, but the one personal policy he does have is to not interfere with matters of the heart. 

Unfortunately, this has also been a major source of grief for himself. It was his steadfast adherence to this rule that left him to spend the good part of high school watching Suna and Osamu make lovey eyes at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. It was also this rule that forced him to play audience to Bokuto's immense obliviousness in response to Akaashi's very apparent affections. But rules are rules, and Atsumu isn't going to break the one rule he has and abides by just because he thinks Tobio and Shouyou are cute or something. 

Komori had been very disappointed at Atsumu’s refusal to partake in his matchmaking scheme for the two of them.

( _“Just so you know, you were going to play a very important role in this plan!” Komori huffs, making his displeasure known in the agitated way he stirs his smoothie. “Whatever, I’ll just watch the two of them flirt hopelessly with each other for the next ten years.”_ )

Well, the good news is that all the couples whose pining Atsumu has had to endure over the years eventually got their shit together and asked each other out. Here's hoping that Tobio and Shouyou will follow that very optimistic trend. 

Atsumu’s ears perk up at the sound of a drink being set down on the counter in front of him. He turns away from the pair to see Sakusa sliding his order across the marble countertop towards him, alongside a straw in a paper sleeve.

“Is that my cuppa Joe?” Atsumu asks happily. 

“Is that rhetorical or do you really not recognize your own usual order?” Sakusa asks drily. 

Atsumu laughs. “Hey Omi-kun, why do they call it a cup of Joe anyway?”

Sakusa blinks. “Well, there are several possibilities behind its etymology. One theory suggests that—”

“‘Cuz it’s a cup of Joe mama.” 

Atsumu’s laughter dies on his lips at the mutinous look Sakusa gives him. Slowly, deliberately, Sakusa picks up the straw and unwraps one end. Then he brings it to his lips and blows hard, shooting the wrapper straight into Atsumu’s face. Atsumu shrieks as the paper sleeve smacks him in the forehead, then flutters to the ground.

“That’s point-blank range, Omi-Omi! Not fair!”

“Too bad,” Sakusa retorts, lips curving into a mischievous grin. Then he stabs the straw into Atsumu’s plastic cup and lifts it up for him to take. “Come on, off you go now. Or your brother will chew your ear off for being late again.”

Atsumu accepts the drink from him, sticks his tongue out, then turns to leave. He hears Sakusa chuckle quietly as he steps out of the store. Idly, he thinks to himself that a smile is a good look on Sakusa.  
  


△

  
  
Osamu is sporting an impressive scowl when he steps into Onigiri Miya. Immediately, Atsumu goes on the defensive.

“Woah, woah,” he says, arms raised in surrender. “I’m not even late today!”

“No, it’s not that. Although you are cutting it a bit fine today…”

Atsumu shrugs. “So what is it then?”

Osamu seems to scowl even harder, if that’s possible. “I think I’ve realized why business has been so slow lately. It’s the fucking FamilyMart.”

Atsumu pauses with his drink halfway to his lips, frowns, and lowers it. “You’re gonna have to explain that.”

Osamu sighs, taking off his cap to rake a hand through his hair before resettling it back atop his head. Atsumu eyes the healthy state of his locks enviously. Blond’s a good look on himself, but the uncanny texture of hay makes him regret it sometimes. 

“They’ve started selling new onigiri flavours, and the kids at your school absolutely dig it.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then just copy their menu! Anything they’ve got, you can make a hundred times better! No, a thousand!”

It’s not often that he praises his brother openly like this, but Osamu looks genuinely distressed and that upsets Atsumu. It’s his job to make trouble for Osamu, not anyone else’s, and definitely not some corporate giant’s! 

Osamu sighs again. “See, that’s the problem. The flavours they carry are weird as shit. I can’t go around selling stuff like that. What would that make me?” 

Atsumu peers at his brother. “How weird are we talking?”

“Peanut butter and ketchup weird.”

Atsumu cringes. “What the fuck? And the people at my college are into that?”

“Unfortunately,” Osamu mutters. 

Atsumu sets down his coffee, then grips his brother firmly by the shoulders. “Don’t fret, Samu. Let your big bro handle this!”

Osamu gives him a tired laugh, then slaps his hands off weakly. “Shut up, Tsumu. Mom and Dad have never confirmed that you’re older.”

“And yet they’ve never denied otherwise either,” Atsumu grins. 

As Osamu fends off his attempts at patting his head, a plan begins to formulate itself in the deep recesses of Atsumu’s mind. Oh, FamilyMart is going down.  
  
  
  
  
After a preliminary round of snooping, Atsumu walks out of FamilyMart with newfound knowledge, a bad purchase, and a mortal enemy. The employee today had been another college-age guy with possibly the worst haircut Atsumu has ever seen on anyone. Think bowlcut, but more angular. And asymmetrical. His razor-straight bangs had been cut at a sharp diagonal, almost as if he took a ruler to his hair and just started snipping away. Privately, Atsumu can't help but wonder if FamilyMart exclusively hires people with weird hair. 

Anyway, Ruler Bangs got supremely annoyed with Atsumu ten minutes into his investigations, and demanded he either buy something or leave. Arms laden with pre-packaged onigiri whose ingredients list he’d been photographing until then, Atsumu is ashamed to say he chose the route of least resistance and waddled over to the checkout counter with the rice balls. He dropped more than a few on the way there, and Mr. I-Cut-My-Own-Bangs cussed him out impressively as he picked up after him. Atsumu finds himself really missing Puddinghead. His hair hadn’t even been that bad too!

“Will that be all?” Protractor Bowlcut had asked icily, in a tone that suggested if Atsumu even dared to add anything more to his order of an ungodly number of rice balls, then his physical well-being would be under serious threat. 

Atsumu had nodded meekly, accepting the bursting bag of onigiri thrust into his face. Then he hastily fled the store, moving so quickly to the exit that the motion sensor doors almost hadn’t opened in time.

Now, as he steps into the open air, he heaves a huge sigh of relief. Then he begins to wonder what he’s gonna do with all this rice.  
  


△

  
  
As it turns out, hosting an onigiri party is pretty high up on the list of ways to get rid of unwanted rice balls. But due to the short notice (these onigiri have a pretty short shelf-life, Atsumu is learning), Atsumu has no choice but to invite the only friends in the vicinity whom he and Osamu have got (he’d tried to rope Kunieda-san in as well, but he took one look at the strange onigiri and quickly mumbled something about his wife expecting him home early—Kunieda-san isn’t even married!). In any case, this is how the entire roster of The Daily Bean finds themselves sitting in the shuttered interior of Onigiri Miya after closing hours. And Atsumu is quickly realizing that ‘friends’ is way too generous a term to dub Osamu and Sakusa’s tumultuous relationship.

“What, back for more wasabi?” Osamu snipes. 

Sakusa scowls, but says nothing. Atsumu sighs exasperatedly. “Samu, play nice. He’s kindly agreed to help us with the onigiri.”

Osamu’s eyebrow twitches. “Like that isn’t entirely your own fault. Tell me again why the hell you decided to buy a fuck load of trashy onigiri and bring them into my store?”

“I panicked, okay. You would have too, if you’d met the guy at the store. He was a fucking menace.”

Komori claps his hands. “Alright, enough preamble! I was promised strange and wonderful onigiri, and I’m here to eat my fill!”

“Atsumu-san actually called them ‘weird and disgusting’, not ‘strange and wonderful’, Komori-san,” Tobio supplies helpfully. 

Komori flaps a hand dismissively. “Semantics, Kageyama.”

Shouyou drags out a chair noisily, before plonking himself down beside Komori. “Osamu-san, bring the rice out already! I’m starving!”

Atsumu watches as Tobio stealthily slides into the seat beside Shouyou. Well, not stealthy enough to evade Atsumu’s watchful gaze, that is. Osamu mumbles something rude about demanding little orange twerps, then disappears into the kitchen to retrieve the humongous bag Atsumu had lugged back earlier in the evening. 

“I’m telling you guys now,” Atsumu says, settling down beside Sakusa, “these rice balls are weird. Like, _really_ weird. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Komori nods sympathetically. “Capitalism. They think they can get away with anything.”

Atsumu sends him a quizzical frown. Sakusa puts up a hand. “Don’t ask him to elaborate,” he mutters under his breath to Atsumu. “He’ll go on forever.”

Osamu reappears with the large bag of dubious rice balls to the whoops of one very excited Shouyou. He upends the contents onto the table, then plonks himself opposite Komori at the other head of the table. Six pairs of eyes study the plastic-wrapped triangles of rice in silence.

“Alright,” Sakusa says finally. “Where do we begin?”

“Um,” Shouyou says hesitantly, his excitement from earlier given way to apprehension. “Maybe this?”

He holds up a rice ball whose label introduces it as a PB&J onigiri. His suggestion is met with silence. 

“Well, it looks the safest.” Tobio says, equally dubiously. 

Atsumu nods stiffly. Shouyou begins unwrapping the package, then splits the actual rice ball into two halves. He offers one half to Osamu, but Osamu merely turns his nose up in disgust, so he hands it to Sakusa instead. Sakusa pinches it with his thumb and forefinger. Then everyone watches as Shouyou takes a tentative bite. His eyes widen in alarm, then he’s motioning for Osamu to grab him a plastic bag. Osamu quickly snags him a spare takeout bag, and a unanimous groan of disgust goes around the room as Shouyou spits the mouthful out into the bag. 

“That was disgusting,” he grouses.

Sakusa immediately tries to get rid of the half he still has in his hand. “Come on, Miya. Take it,” he hisses. 

Atsumu shoves his hand away. “No, you eat it yourself, Omi-kun!”

“No,” Shouyou says decisively. “Nobody eats that. Toss it into the bag, Omi-san.”

So he does. Then Komori reaches out a hand for the half-eaten piece still in Shouyou’s hand. He takes a small nibble, then frowns. “Hmm. That’s strange. Really strange.”

Coming from Komori? Yeah, the thing's as good as inedible. 

"I can’t believe they’re out here disgracing onigiri like this,” Osamu jeers. “What the fuck even is ' _Family_ Mart'? What a phony! _We're_ the real family businesses here!"

"Yeah. A real inconvenience store, more like!" Atsumu chimes in. 

When nobody laughs, Atsumu feels the need to elaborate. "Y'know? ‘Cause it's a convenience store?" 

"I believe we were all politely pretending not to have heard you the first time," Sakusa says dryly. 

"Well, I'm politely pretending not to notice how stupid your face is," Atsumu grumbles. 

"Come on, guys. No infighting here, the real enemy is the conglomerate," Komori tuts. 

Tobio lifts up another onigiri. “We should have started with this. It’s ice-cream filling, apparently.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely more than a little melted. Toss it, Tobi-kun,” Atsumu advises. 

This is how they go through most of the onigiri, one person taking a small nibble and determining if it’s edible or not before it inevitably gets tossed into the plastic bag. Most of them really are too terrible to consume, but Atsumu thinks a few of them are alright:

"Disgusting,” Osamu mutters. “Is this seriously what we're losing sales to?" 

"I dunno, I thought it was okay. The texture's kinda gummy and weird, but the flavour's decent," Atsumu says.

Osamu shoots him an unimpressed look. "Change your last name. Now. I can't have you and your unrefined palate dragging my brand's name through the mud like this." 

"Tough luck. We've got the same face, dumbass. You'll never be rid of me." 

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to agree with Osamu-san on this one. That was kinda gross," Shouyou pipes up. 

"Agreed. I found it to be highly unpalatable," Sakusa chimes in. 

"Boo, y'all are just a bunch of haters." Atsumu sticks out his tongue. 

"Don't defend the capitalist rice ball," Komori gasps. 

" _You're_ a capitalist rice ball," Atsumu mutters. 

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Osamu snaps.

Atsumu turns towards his last hope. "Tobi-kun. That wasn't that bad, right? Come on, I saw you eat like half of it." 

"Please don't tell me you actually liked that," Shouyou mutters. 

Tobio stiffens. Obediently, he shakes his head. "Um. Yeah, I think it tastes weird."

Fucking traitor. Atsumu narrows his eyes at him. He was eating it just fine up until a minute ago when Shouyou said it was gross!

“Okay, everyone. I think that’s enough. We’re all probably gonna end up with a stomachache so you can thank Tsumu for that,” Osamu announces, determinedly clearing the table of the remaining rice balls. 

“Oh, thank god that’s the end,” Shouyou says, looking faintly ill. Tobio laughs at the green tinge of his face.

“What are you gonna do about it, Osamu?” Komori asks, gesturing at the onigiri wrappers strewn all around. 

Osamu frowns in confusion. “Toss it?”

“No, I mean what are you gonna do about FamilyMart stealing your business!”

“Oh. What can I do? It’s not like I can just start selling novelty flavours that don’t taste good,” Osamu mutters bitterly. 

Komori taps his index finger on the table thoughtfully. Then a grin splits across his face. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you to think of something!”

“No thanks,” Osamu answers quickly.

“This better not turn out like the time you tried selling bubble tea at our cafe,” Sakusa says scornfully.

“Why do you sound like that? The bubble tea special was a success!” Komori protests.

“You started a grease fire in the kitchen, Komori-san,” Tobio reminds him politely.

“A teensy fire! That’s all!”

Osamu sends him a wary look. “Yeah, I think we’ll be fine without your help, Komori.”  
  
  
  
  
Later, as they’re leaving, Atsumu corners Komori. “Look, Motoya-kun, I’m grateful that you wanna help, but Samu’s probably not gonna take up any of your suggestions. He’s stubborn like that.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll persuade him just fine,” Komori says breezily.

“No, you don’t get it. He’s headstrong as hell. It took me a full month of convincing just to get him to make heart-shaped onigiri for Valentines’ Day! I don’t want you to waste your time, Motoya-kun.”

Komori smiles craftily. “Well, Atsumu. I’m glad you think I’m compassionate enough to be helping out through the pure kindness of my heart. But you should probably know that I have my own agenda too!”

Atsumu eyes him suspiciously. “What are you planning?”

Komori gives him a sly look, all narrowed eyes and devious smirk. “You’ll just have to wait and see!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> approximately zero research was done when i wrote this and im sure familymart actually carries normal and delicious onigiri lol
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	6. Jack(ass) and the Beans Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spilling the beans, in more ways than one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changing the currency to yen as of this chapter update bc my dumbass self forgot I set this fic in tokyo fml

As Atsumu’s penultimate semester of college comes to a close, he finds himself spending more and more time in the university library and less and less time at Onigiri Miya. Osamu had been strangely accepting of this development, and Atsumu felt pleased to know that his brother was slowly unlearning his tyrannical ways. 

“Why are you looking at me all funny?” Osamu demands.

“Nothing, I’m just so proud that you’ve finally grasped the concept of being considerate to others,” Atsumu beams. 

“What are you talking about? I’m expecting you to put in double the hours during your summer break to make up for your absence now,” Osamu says in bafflement, like Atsumu should know this.

Atsumu’s smile drops. “Ah, yes. There’s the despot I know and hate.”

“Shut up.”

"Look at me, the pitiful proletariat suffering under the petite bourgeoisie," Atsumu whinges as he wipes down a table. 

Osamu snaps a towel against the back of his head. “Stop being annoying.”

“Watch it, I could unionize.”

“One of these days I’m gonna change the locks at home and then you’ll learn to stop saying dumb shit to me.”

Atsumu keeps quiet, but mouths a silent _fucking tyrant_ once Osamu’s back is turned.  
  
  
  
  
Atsumu hadn’t been expecting anything out of the ordinary when he decided to make a quick stop at The Daily Bean on his way back to campus. A quick cup of coffee, a little gossip session with Komori about Tobio and Shouyou’s latest exploits, maybe even indulge in a little banter with Sakusa. You know, the usual. 

So he’s stunned and more than a little afraid to find Sakusa and Komori engaged in a screaming match when he enters.

“You went to Kyoto months ago but waited until the shipment arrived to tell me?” Sakusa shouts furiously. “So that’s why the expenses looked so weird!”

“I didn’t tell you earlier for this exact reason! I knew you were gonna react badly!” Komori yells back, equally angry. 

“One simple task," Sakusa fumes. "Just one! And you couldn’t even do it right. knew I should have gone to Kyoto myself!”

“You know what the old geezer is like! Even if I knelt and begged at his feet, you think he'd budge on the prices?”

“Maybe you should have tried that and then we wouldn’t be having this problem right now!"

“Maybe if you weren’t such a pretentious snob who refuses to use any other type of coffee bean, then this wouldn’t _be_ a problem at all!”

A vein pulses in Sakusa's temple as he tightens his jaw, his knuckles gone white from gripping the edge of the marble countertop. 

Atsumu fidgets nervously where he stands. Shit, is this how other people feel when he and Osamu fight? This is _terrifying_. He shares an uneasy look with Shouyou, who's backed himself into the wall to put as much distance between himself and the two cousins.

But then the tense mood is broken by the shop's welcome chime. Immediately, Komori plasters on a smile and turns to face the lady who enters. Sakusa stiffly turns away, meeting eyes with Atsumu for the first time since he’s stepped into the store. He looks away. Silently, he keys in Atsumu’s order, then moves away to begin making his drink. Atsumu awkwardly goes to tap his card against the payment terminal. Shouyou takes the opportunity to dart quickly back into the kitchen. There is no doubt in Atsumu's mind that he's already frantically texting Tobio, and will then burn off any remaining nervous energy by creating an ungodly amount of focaccia and choux pastry. 

Atsumu hovers awkwardly by the collection area, watching as Komori chatters away in his usual chipper tone, the other customer none the wiser. As Sakusa edges past Komori towards where Atsumu stands, there's one nerve-wrecking moment where Komori's smile freezes, Sakusa's grip on the plastic cup tightening. The ice rattles noisily inside. But then the moment passes, and Sakusa proceeds in his trajectory towards Atsumu. 

Wordlessly, he hands the drink over, staring resolutely above Atsumu's head. 

“Ah, thank you,” Atsumu says clumsily as he accepts it. 

Sakusa nods stiffly, and turns back around. 

"Um, Omi-kun?" 

Sakusa pauses, head turning slightly. 

Atsumu has no idea what to say. Has no idea why he even called him back. But the expression on Sakusa's face had looked so terrible that Atsumu felt the need to try and make him feel better. It's not like Sakusa's his greatest pal or whatever, but he looks so upset at this moment and it just looks _wrong_. He’s supposed to be blunt and annoying and rude, and he sports an impassive poker face all the time, except not really, because his eyes spark whenever he says something just a little mean, because he's a bastard like that. But right now he looks miserable more than anything, and there's definitely no spark in his eyes. Atsumu feels like he has to do something, anything. 

Sakusa is still looking at him. Atsumu scrabbles for something to say. “Um, has anyone ever told you the two moles on your forehead look like half of an unfinished smiley face?”

Sakusa blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Uh, I mean! Look at them! If you put a smile to the side then it forms a smiley face! Y'know?”

Sakusa stares at him. 

“I mean, like, the eyes are missing a smile,” Atsumu rambles on in desperation. “So you should smile. To complete the smiley face. I mean, your two moles. Which are the eyes of the smiley face. Yes.” 

Atsumu is grasping at straws, and the straws are disintegrating in real time. 

“...What?”

“Nothing! Love your coffee, by the way.” Then he takes a huge gulp of his drink to drive the point home, but ends up choking, and painfully hacks out, “Thanks! Bye! I gotta go study now!”

And then he runs away.  
  


△

  
  
Atsumu is a coward. A coward who should be revising for his finals instead of agonizing over the dumb thing he said to his barista the other day, but a coward nonetheless. He doesn’t think he can ever face Sakusa again, not after the weird stuff he blabbered to him. Which is odd, because Atsumu’s done plenty of weird things throughout his life, enough to earn him a reputation for being more than a little strange and more than a little dislikable. And it’s not like he’s ever cared. But the thought of _Sakusa_ finding him weird enough to dislike?

Well. 

It bothers him somewhat. Upsets him, even. 

Argh. 

Why is he even thinking about this? Atsumu bangs his head against the textbook splayed out on the table before him, groaning. 

“Great studying method there, Tsumu. Just smash your head into the words, I’m sure it’ll help,” Osamu says caustically. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Atsumu grunts. Then tacks on a “please” when he remembers Osamu’s threat from the other day about replacing the locks on their front door. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you anyway? You seemed all confident and shit last week.”

“It’s not the exam,” Atsumu mumbles into the page of his textbook. “I think I’m having caffeine withdrawal, Samu.”

Osamu lets out a low whistle. “Never thought I'd see the day. So, while I'm glad you’re finally doing something about that caffeine addiction of yours, why quit now? It’s the middle of your finals. Not great timing.”

It really isn’t. But it’s not like Atsumu’s got much choice. He’s been boycotting FamilyMart ever since the whole onigiri affair, in a show of solidarity for his twin. Though Osamu’s mostly been rather thankless about the whole thing, dismissing Atsumu’s self-imposed ban as "pointless" because "they’re a multi-million dollar franchise chain, your broke self no longer shopping there is hardly gonna hurt them, idiot". But what kind of brother would he be if he supported Osamu’s business rival? So Atsumu continued to maintain his boycott. It hadn’t been much of an issue at first, since he could still get his multiple coffees a day from The Daily Bean. But ever since the embarrassing stunt he pulled with Sakusa, he can’t bring himself to go back there. And Atsumu’s never been so caffeine-deprived in his life. 

If he’s being honest, it’s starting to put into perspective his whole caffeine problem. Atsumu thinks he now understands a little better why Aran had wanted to use him and Osamu as test subjects for his capstone project on caffeine addiction (Osamu had been the control). Aran had called it the one single time he’d ever been glad to be friends with them, because apparently twin studies are a huge thing in medical research. Atsumu would have been a little more hurt by this statement if not for the fact that his participation in the study earned him quite a bit of cash actually.

He lets out another weak groan at the pounding in his head.  
  


△

  
  
Reluctantly, Atsumu finds himself crawling to The Daily Bean, his need for caffeine trumping his mortification at having to see Sakusa once again. As he stands in front of the glass doors, he tries to convince himself that maybe Sakusa isn’t in today, then takes a deep breath and swings the door open.

Fuck. 

Sakusa’s here. And so is Komori. Talk about bad luck.

They’ve both spotted him entering, not to mention the jingle of the entry chime would have given his presence away regardless, so he has no choice but to shuffle over to the counter, head bowed low to avoid eye contact with one particular dark haired and dark eyed barista.

“Hi. Uh, can I get the usual,” he mumbles to Komori. “Please?”

Komori nods, then calls for Hinata. “Hey Hinata, could you please tell Kiyoomi that Atsumu here would like an iced americano?”

Shouyou drags his feet coming out of the kitchen, gives Komori a long and hard stare, then lets out a sigh. “Are we doing this again?”

When Komori does nothing but looks at him expectantly, Shouyou lets out another long-suffering sigh. Then he turns to face Sakusa. In the dullest tone possible, he soullessly says, “Omi-san, Komori-san wants you to know that Atsumu-san wants an iced americano.”

Sakusa looks up only now, like he hadn’t already clearly heard the entire exchange. "Why, thank you, Hinata. Could I trouble you to remind Motoya that I will not be making any coffee until he fixes the problem he caused?"

“Komori-san, Omi-san says that —”

“Well, Hinata, do let Kiyoomi know that he needs to suck it up because I already paid for the beans and the beans aren’t going anywhere, except for into the espresso machine.”

“Omi-san, Komo—”

“Hinata. Please relay to Motoya that since _he_ bought those coffee beans, then _he_ should make the coffee.”

Hinata looks miserably at Komori, who is glaring daggers into Sakusa's back. Atsumu isn't quite sure what's happening, and though the two seem considerably calmer this time around, he's certain that if this carries on any further, they’ll be at each other’s throats again, this time with poor Shouyou caught in the crossfire. So he decides to intervene.

“Woah, woah. It’s okay, I can come back later? When things, uh, settle down?”

“Oh dear!” Komori exclaims dramatically, one hand coming up to cover his mouth in a mock gasp. “Would you look at that! Kiyoomi, you’re scaring off a paying customer!” 

“Hinata, tell Motoya to shut up and make the coffee already,” Sakusa says crossly, furiously wiping at the countertop now.

“No, Hinata, tell Kiyoomi to stop being a whiny pissbaby.”

Kiyoomi flings the cloth onto the counter in irritation. “ _You_ bought those stupid beans, so why should _I_ have to deal with them?”

“Oh, are we talking to each other now?” Komori inflects in a sing-song tone. “Stop being such a child, Kiyoomi. Yeah, I changed our supplier. So what? Just get used to the new beans instead of making a huge fuss!”

Sakus’s jaw moves soundlessly. He crosses his arms. “No. I already told you. I’m not making any coffee using subpar coffee beans.”

Komori scowls. “They’re just as premium as our old beans! You’re only throwing a tantrum because they’re different and you don’t like different. Admit it, Kiyoomi!”

Sakusa doesn’t reply, facing away from his cousin and jutting his bottom lip out. He probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it, but he’s _pouting_. Atsumu has a sudden and inexplicable urge to smooth away the furrow between his brows with a thumb. 

Shouyou glances back and forth, before taking a deep breath and very valiantly inserting himself between the two cousins like some sort of animal wrangler. Considering that both of his employers tower over him, this actually makes for a pretty funny image.

But Sakusa still appears incredibly put out, and recalling his miserable expression from the other day, Atsumu decides that he doesn’t want to add to his unhappiness. Which is why he says, “Um, I can just grab a coffee from the FamilyMart across the road—"

This is quite possibly the worst thing he could have said, and his words have the opposite effect of diffusing the tension. Two pairs of eyes snap over to him in an instant. Uh-oh. 

“No!” Komori yells, and lunges across the top of the counter to sink his fingers into Atsumu’s shoulders in a vice-like grip. “Kiyoomi, go make his coffee now. Or else he’s going to —”

“Yeah, I heard him. You don’t have to say it again,” Sakusa grumbles, turning around and busying himself with making Atsumu’s coffee. Atsumu simply stares, bewildered at the sudden acquiescence. 

“For the record,” Sakusa says above the whir of the espresso machine. “I’m making it because of his FamilyMart threat, and not because you told me to.”

Atsumu's eyes widen. "It wasn’t a threat! I really can go if it’s too much hassle!" 

"What, are you being serious? I can't believe you willingly drink that crap," Sakusa scoffs. 

"Never mention that name in this hallowed house," Komori says solemnly as he releases Atsumu. Then he looks up, and flashes Atsumu a brilliant smile. "That’ll be four hundred and eighty yen!” he says brightly, as if the earlier altercation had never happened. 

“Just so we’re clear, I still hate these beans,” Sakusa says petulantly as he waits for the espresso to be dispensed. 

“I’m sure you do,” Komori says lightly, handing Atsumu his receipt. 

“And I hate you too,” Sakusa adds on crabbily. 

“I’ll tell your mom you said that,” Komori says. 

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll tell her you said that too.”

Sakusa scowls, then turns around to grouchily complete Atsumu’s drink. Shouyou, deciding that the situation is more or less resolved, heads back into the kitchen. Komori follows him. 

“Ooh, what are we making today, Hinata?” 

“There is no ‘we’, Komori-san. Please get out of the kitchen,” Shouyou’s voice carries over. 

“Aw, but I wanna help!”

Atsumu hears a long sigh from Shouyou, then, “Fine, but only if you promise not to lick the raw cookie dough or add extra spices when I’m not looking.”

Komori offers a bright “yes sir!” and then their voices get too muffled to make out as they wander further into the kitchen.

Sakusa puts Atsumu’s drink in front of him. Atsumu turns to intercept it, ready to sprint out of there to avoid embarrassing himself in front of the barista once more, but Sakusa’s voice stops him. 

“‘Enjoy your drink’ is what I’d say, but I’d be lying,” he says quietly. “Part of me hopes you’ll hate that coffee just so I can say ‘I told you so’ to Motoya.”

Atsumu picks up his drink hesitantly. Sakusa rests his elbows against the counter and leans against it, head turned to the side as he stares out the French windows. “Isn’t that awfully childish of me?” he mumbles. 

Atsumu doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t leave either, standing by the counter and watching Sakusa’s profile quietly. He should be heading back to finish his revision soon, but Sakusa seems like he needs a listening ear, so he stays. 

“I was supposed to go to college, you know. But I knew I wanted to do this. I’ve always loved coffee, so it made sense for me to start my own cafe. But sometimes I just feel like I’m not doing enough,” Sakusa says, still looking at the passing traffic outside.

“How so?” Atsumu asks quietly.

“I want to make the best coffee that I can, all the time. And I feel like my coffee could be so much better if I just tried a little harder. That's why I'm so strict with our preparation methods, and it's why I'm so insistent on us using the best coffee beans we’re able to source.”

He glances up at Atsumu then, who sends him an encouraging nod to go on. Sakusa gives him a rueful smile. “I say all that, but I don’t think anyone else would even be able to tell that we changed the kind of coffee beans that we use. Not even you, and you probably drink more of our coffee than anybody else. It’s stupid. I got so worked up over everything just because I wanted to satisfy my own ridiculous expectations for myself.”

Atsumu hums thoughtfully. He’s no stranger to the hazards of having such a perfectionist attitude. The pursuit of excellence can be a great and wondrous thing, and it’s what drove him to apply for college in the first place; it’s why Atsumu pushed himself to work so hard, why for the first three years of college, he never let himself slip off the dean’s list. But it’s also dangerous to aim for perfection at the cost of everything else. And no one knows this better than Atsumu. 

“Hey, Omi-kun. I never did tell you what I’m studying, did I?”

“No, you never talk about college.”

So Atsumu does. He tells Sakusa about his degree programme, how he’s spent close to four years dedicating himself to a subject he has little passion for, all because he wanted to be the best. He tells him about the sleepless nights, the countless tears, the caffeine addiction. He tells him about last spring, when he collapsed on campus and woke up in the hospital, an IV drip in his left hand and a distraught Osamu clutching his other. It was the first time he’d seen his brother cry in years. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” Osamu had sobbed out. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

But Osamu could never understand. He had his restaurant, his goals, his aspirations. Atsumu didn’t have all that. He had no big dream, no unique skill set. Academic success was the only way he could prove himself. 

“You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone!” Osamu had yelled.

But it wasn’t just anyone. It was himself. And that’s the worst reason you could ever have to push yourself that far. Not a parent, not a mentor, not the world. When you become your own harshest critic, it becomes impossible to know when to stop. He tells Sakusa as much. 

“Striving for perfection is a good thing, but knowing when to stop is better. That’s what someone told me once,” Atsumu says. Then he pulls a face. “But he also had tears and snot running down his face when he told me that, so it’s not as sentimental as it sounds.”

Sakusa, who’s been listening quietly all this time, lets out a soft laugh at this. 

“You’ll only make yourself unhappy if you refuse to acknowledge when you’re already doing your best, Omi-kun.” 

Sakusa studies him silently for awhile, then he says, “Thank you. Not just for the advice. But also for telling me all that.”

“No problem,” Atsumu says. “Now I gotta go back to the shop because Samu sucks. He thinks I don’t realize it but I know he still gives me shifts during finals week to make sure I don’t overwork myself. It sounds counterintuitive, but it’s only when I’m at the shop that he can keep an eye on me.”

“Would you take care of yourself even if he wasn't there to watch you?”

Atsumu thinks for a second. “Yeah. I’m not proud to admit it, but when you see your brother cry like that it really makes you reevaluate everything you’ve done wrong in your life up to that point,” he says, giving Sakusa a wan smile. Then he turns to leave. 

“Wait, Miya.”

Atsumu turns around. Sakusa gives him a small smile. Then he taps on the two moles on his forehead. “The smiley. You wanted to see it complete, right? So here you go.”

As Sakusa continues to smile softly at him, Atsumu feels something, small and unsure, flutter from deep within his ribcage. 

_Oh,_ he thinks to himself, _that can’t be good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	7. Bread, But In French

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu speedruns through the stages of grief

Atsumu has never been more reluctant for finals week to end. He's been using it as an excuse to ignore the burgeoning feelings in his chest, burying himself in textbooks and research journals, and resolutely doing his best to ignore the emotion that has been creeping up on him with increasing intensity ever since he first became even aware of its existence. He knows with absolute certainty that if he isn't careful, if he lets his concentration slip for even the barest of moments, that the feeling will consume him entirely, that's how overwhelming it is. 

"Oi. Take a break, you dumbass," Osamu says bluntly. "You've been at it for four hours already."

Atsumu looks up from the illegally-downloaded pdf he's been trying and failing to get through for the past hour and a half. It's all he can do just to keep at bay the treacherous thoughts of dark eyes and darker curls, slithering about at the edges of his consciousness and threatening to overtake his mind completely.

Osamu sets down a small bowl of washed cherry tomatoes before him. "Eat. And have a sip of water for god's sake, you dehydrated bastard."

Then he turns on his heel and goes back to bustling about the kitchen. 

"Samu, it's okay to say you love me, you know!" Atsumu calls loudly.

"Shut up and eat your fucking tomatoes!" Osamu shouts back.

Atsumu chuckles quietly to himself, eats a tomato, then slaps his face lightly. Focus, he needs to focus! He then returns to the pdf with renewed concentration, pushing aside all distractions of soft smiles and twin moles.  
  


△

  
  
The second Atsumu finishes his last paper, he heads straight home, puts his phone to airplane mode, and then he’s dead to the world for seventeen consecutive hours. For once, even Osamu doesn’t bother him.

When he finally awakes from his slumber sometime in the afternoon, it’s to an empty apartment, Osamu having left for work in the early hours of the morning. There’s a crude message left on a post-it stuck to the bathroom mirror, telling him very unkindly to take a bath and also to eat the leftovers in the fridge if he’s hungry. Atsumu sends his brother a selfie of him eating the fried rice he found in the fridge, briefly reheated in the microwave. Osamu sends him a vomiting emoji in return.

Then Atsumu scrolls through the rest of the messages he’d slept through. Tobio’s sent him a congratulatory cat sticker for completing his exams, along with a hastily worded message informing him that Shouyou promises a complimentary pastry of his choice when he next comes in. Atsumu replies with a gif of a smiling cat, and tells Tobio to let Shouyou know that he wants an apple pie. Tobio sends him another cat sticker. 

Next, he finds a message from Komori with a suggestion so strange that his eyebrows shoot all the way up to his hairline. Komori’s asking for his opinion on holding a promotional event between Onigiri Miya and The Daily Bean, in the belief that this will raise sales for both establishments. Atsumu has no idea why Komori thinks this is even remotely a good idea. He replies to Komori with a string of question marks.

And then Atsumu opens his chat with Bokuto, who’s sent him approximately fifty messages in the time he was asleep. The latest are just him whining about being ignored, but as he scrolls up to read the earlier messages, Atsumu feels a frown settle across his face. Apparently, he’s being invited to go backpacking around Europe with Bokuto now that his finals are over. It sounds tempting, until Atsumu scrolls down to find that Kuroo is the one organizing the trip. 

See, just like Bokuto, Kuroo was an upperclassman of Atsumu’s from college, but unlike Bokuto, Kuroo had developed a bit of a reputation on campus for dabbling in suspicious activities. Since graduation, he’s become a high-ranking executive in a health and wellness company, its flagship product being a blueberry drink whose countless claims to fame include curing cancer, among other equally outlandish assertions. A few months ago, Kuroo had managed to rope Bokuto into working for this blueberry scam. Poor Bokkun never stood a chance against the cockatiel-haired fiend. 

In any case, Atsumu definitely isn’t going on this Europe trip. He’d rather part with a limb than spend the whole of summer listening to Kuroo and Bokuto wax poetic about the wonders of blueberries, before attempting to coerce him into buying triple his weight in what is essentially just blueberry sugar water. Besides, Akaashi’s got a summer internship lined up here in Tokyo, and Atsumu would really rather not spend half the time consoling Bokuto over how he can’t connect to Akaashi over Skype. So he types out a message to Bokuto explaining that he has to help Osamu with the shop over the summer, so he can’t go. He gets a crying owl sticker in response. 

Atsumu replies to a few more texts, and then he’s done. Fried rice polished off, phone no longer pinging, and left alone in an empty apartment, Atsumu is forced to confront the dreadful thought that has been plaguing him for a whole week now.

 _Does he like Sakusa?_

The very idea of it is so frightening that Atsumu immediately tries to shut that line of thought off. _It can’t be,_ he reasons with himself, _I haven’t liked someone in ages_. The last time he’d had a crush on anyone had been in junior high. That’s just the way Atsumu is, he doesn’t fall for people. He’s seen the people around him fall in love, and the only takeaway he’s gotten from observing all of that is that feelings seem like a huge inconvenience, not to mention a massive waste of time. In his opinion, all that time Suna spends video-calling Osamu could be better spent on more productive things. Like watching cat videos, or something. 

Yeah, there’s no way he could possibly be having a crush on Sakusa. Romance is pointless, and it’s silly.  
  


△

  
  
Atsumu absolutely does not have a crush. In fact, he despises the very concept of a crush. It just seems like such a schoolboy notion, something so very juvenile. Just the idea itself is almost enough to make him break out in hives. So no, Atsumu absolutely is not crushing on anyone.

Which is why he is standing in front of The Daily Bean, hyping himself up enough to enter the store and confront the source of all his distress. He needs closure, and the best way to achieve that is to obtain solid proof denying the existence of his feelings. He’s gonna go in, talk to Sakusa, and everything will be normal, there will be no weird fluttery sensations, and he’ll prove to himself that their last interaction had been an anomaly, probably caused by the caffeine deprivation at the time. Then he’ll walk out with the comforting knowledge that he has not, in fact, developed a crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

Resolutely, Atsumu marches into the cafe, and towards the counter. Tobio looks up as he enters, cheeks bulging as he munches on a cookie. He looks surprised to see Atsumu.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Atsumu-san. Osamu-san said you were still asleep, when Hinata and I went to get onigiri earlier,” Tobio says.

“Yeah,” Atsumu replies distractedly. “Is Omi-kun in today?”

Tobio nods. “He’s in the back with Hinata. I can get him for you.”

“No!” Atsumu yelps as Tobio makes to stand up. “It’s cool, it’s fine. It’s not like I’m looking for him in particular or whatever!”

Tobio blinks, then sits back down. Atsumu leans against the counter, trying to appear casual after his momentary panic. Fortunately, Tobio appears none the wiser. 

“So, uh, whatcha got there?” Atsumu asks airily, nodding at the cookie in Tobio’s hand. 

He's making a weird face as he chews, one that makes him look mildly constipated. This is strange, because Atsumu has not known Tobio to sport any expression short of pure excitement when eating any food item. 

"Oh, this? Hinata made me a cookie."

"So why do you look upset by it?" 

"It's coffee-flavoured."

"Ah. He doesn't know you don't like coffee?" 

"No, he knows. But he's been trying to get me to like coffee, so he keeps making me coffee-flavoured stuff. He says he’ll keep at it until I can stomach coffee."

Atsumu thinks it's just an excuse for Shouyou to keep making Tobio food, honestly. Coffee is the one edible thing he thinks Tobio will never like, which is strange for someone who works at a coffee shop, but Tobio claims that the pay is really good, so there’s that. Atsumu’s got to give it to Shouyou though, this is the perfect excuse to keep feeding Tobio because it’s unlikely he’ll ever grow to like coffee. Man, that cunning little orange punk really knows how to play his cards right. 

Too distracted by his own thoughts, Atsumu doesn’t register the approaching footsteps until Sakusa emerges before him from the kitchen. 

“Miya? What are you doing here?” Sakusa sounds surprised. “I thought you’d be at home, sleeping off your sleep debt.”

Atsumu balks, not expecting to see Sakusa so soon. In his panic, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Uh. I'm here to discuss...business strategies. Yeah.”

Where the hell did _that_ come from? 

Sakusa stares blankly at him.

“Y’know," Atsumu babbles. "Like...like a collab. Or something.”

Man, fuck Komori and his insidious ideas. 

“A collab?"

Atsumu racks his brain for more excuses. “Yeah, a promotion. Or a set deal. A buy-one-get-one, that sort of thing.”

“You’re proposing we cross-promote our brands?”

“Yeah! That. Uh. I mean, not me. It’s Samu’s idea. Obviously.” Atsumu laughs nervously.

As usual, Sakusa’s eyebrows are drawn together, but this time he doesn’t look mad, or even annoyed. If anything, he just looks confused. 

“You’re suggesting we should promote coffee...and _rice_ together?”

Even Atsumu, unrefined and unsophisticated as he is, can tell that that food combination sounds weird as fuck. But because Atsumu’s not a quitter:

“Yes.”

"Oh," Sakusa says, still sounding incredibly puzzled. "I'll think about it."

His tone suggests that he's already discarded the idea, thank god.

"Alright, uh. I'll be going then!" Atsumu says quickly, then swiftly strides off without turning back once, not even when he hears Tobio calling him to come back for a slice of Shouyou's apple pie.  
  
  
  
  
Alright, so the results from that interaction were not at all helpful. While there thankfully hadn’t been a repeat of the whole fluttery nonsense, Atsumu did, however, find himself inexplicably tongue-tied and flustered when talking to Sakusa. This has never happened before. In the past he’d found it hard to hold a conversation with Sakusa because of how standoffish he was, but never had he found the communication to be difficult for reasons on his own part. But now here he is, awkwardly dodging questions and stumbling over his words, and for what? Why is he suddenly finding basic interaction with Sakusa so hard? _Because you have a crush on him,_ the traitorous part of his brain supplies.

Atsumu bangs his head on the table. This is so stupid.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Osamu, ever the loving brother, asks brusquely. 

“Shut up. My head hurts.”

“Why? It’s not like you ever use it.”

Atsumu growls, making a swipe at Osamu. He kicks Atsumu in retaliation. “Oi. Is it still the caffeine withdrawal?”

“Maybe,” Atsumu lies, rubbing at his shin. 

“Idiot. What did I say about quitting cold turkey? Besides, I told you not to come in to work today. Why’d you show up anyway?” Osamu asks exasperatedly as he wipes the table beside him. 

“None of your business,” Atsumu mutters. 

Osamu pauses, then takes a step towards Atsumu and slaps him hard on the head with the rag he’d been using to wipe the table. Bits of half-eaten food come tumbling out of the cloth and onto Atsumu. He screams, arms flying out to fend off the attack. 

“Shithead. See if I ever show you concern again,” Osamu spits. Then with one final slap of the rag, he turns to stalk back into the kitchen. 

Atsumu sits there miserably, attempting to clean himself off as best as he can. In his peripheral vision, he sees someone step into the store, hovering hesitantly by the entrance.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya, pick a seat anywhere you like. I’ll come get your order in a bit,” Atsumu says distractedly, picking bits of seaweed and rice out of his hair.

“I’m not here for food,” the man says in a low, quiet voice muffled by the surgical mask he’s wearing. 

Atsumu’s head snaps up. Sakusa stands before him, peering disgustedly at the remnants of somebody’s lunch currently sitting in Atsumu’s hair. There’s nothing more that Atsumu wants right now than to crawl into a hole and die. 

“Omi-kun? What are you doing here?” He chokes out, hurriedly getting to his feet and tripping over the table leg in the process. He stumbles around like a baby giraffe before regaining his balance, then hastily shakes off the remaining morsels of food in his hair and straightens his clothes. He attempts a smile. 

Sakusa gives him a weird look. “Are you sure you’ve fully slept off your sleep debt, Miya?”

“Yeah, of course, of course,” Atsumu answers, trying to keep his tone casual. “So, what brings you here to our humble eatery?”

Why on earth is he talking like that?

“Oh. I wanted to discuss the collaboration with Osamu. I’m hoping to make some concrete plans.” 

Oh, shit. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

This can’t be happening. 

“Oi, Tsumu, can you help me to—oh. What is _he_ doing here?” 

“Ah, Osamu. Are you free right now?” Sakusa asks. 

Osamu frowns. “Why? What do you want from me?”

“Well, I have a few ideas for the joint promotion and I wanted to hear your thoughts…”

Sakusa’s voice fades out as Atsumu quickly makes his exit, trying to be as discreet as possible. He nearly makes it to the backdoor before he gets caught. Osamu yanks him by the collar and drags him into the employee backroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, marketing my food to outside brands?” He hisses, releasing Atsumu roughly. 

“I was thinking maybe it’s time we expanded the business, you know?” Atsumu squeaks desperately. “Delve into omnichannel marketing, enlarge our consumer base and all that.” 

Atsumu has no idea what he’s saying, he’s just slinging buzzwords and hoping that it works. 

It does not.

“You have no idea what you’re saying, do you?” Osamu demands, narrowing his eyes.

“Not a clue,” Atsumu admits. “But don’t get mad! I didn’t think he’d agree to the collab! I’m as shocked as you are!”

“I’m not shocked, I’m pissed off,” Osamu seethes. “This is your fault, so you clean up the mess. Tell him I’m saying no to the business deal.”

“Aw, really?”

Osamu glares at him. “I’d sooner die than have some gentrified coffee business redistributing my fucking food.”

“Don’t be mean-spirited, Samu.”

“Really, ‘Tsumu? You’re okay with letting _my_ onigiri, made using _Kita-san’s_ rice, be sold together with hipster coffee?”

Damn, Osamu’s a lot better at this buzzword thing. 

“Don’t call on Kita-san’s name like that,” Atsumu whines. “I’m sorry, okay. I really didn’t mean to propose a collab at all, honest. I was just talking to him, and I panicked.”

“Stop saying ‘collab’ like we’re recording a lead single.”

“You know, you give Omi-Omi way too much shit. You guys have so much in common! He’s just as passionate about his coffee as you are with your food. You get your special rice from Hyogo, he gets his special beans from Kyoto. You make artisanal onigiri, he makes artisanal coffee. I think y’all would be great friends if you just tried to get along with him!”

“If you ever call it ‘special rice’ again, I’ll smack you. Also, why are you going so far to defend him? When did you get that close with him?” Osamu eyes him suspiciously.

“Uhh...”

“Whatever. You go out there and tell him no. I’m going back to the kitchen,” Osamu huffs, before striding away. 

Atsumu briefly considers just running out the backdoor and away from this huge mess he’s created, but eventually steels himself enough to emerge from the backroom. Sakusa is sitting at one of the tables by the front, his twill dress shirt and tailored slacks looking extremely out of place against the rustic interior of the store. Atsumu ignores the way his clavicle juts out of his unbuttoned collar, or how the navy contrasts nicely with his complexion. He slides into the seat opposite Sakusa. 

“Hi.” 

Sakusa blinks. “Oh, I thought you’d left already.”

“I wish I had,” Atsumu mutters inaudibly. Being up close with Sakusa now that he’s become somewhat cognizant of his feelings is shaping up to be a rather difficult affair. 

“Did you say something?”

“No,” Atsumu answers quickly, then hastily changes topic. “So, about the collab.”

“Ah, yes. Osamu said he would get back to me, but then he just left…” Sakusa trails off, sporting a confused look.

“Yeah, he lied. He’s gutting fish right now.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but Samu’s not interested.”

Sakusa’s face falls. Atsumu gets the same awful feeling as he did that one time he accidentally stepped on Rocket Launcher’s front paw. 

“I’ll try and convince him otherwise,” Atsumu tacks on quickly. “So don’t worry, Omi-kun!”

“Oh. You don’t have to do that. It’s fine if he doesn’t want to, I just thought it might be nice if we could work together.”

Logically, Atsumu knows he’s referring to their respective shops when he says ‘we’ but his idiotic brain takes the words and decides to interpret them much more personally. His stomach does something weird in response.

“Yes,” Atsumu says, flustered. “That would be nice. Really nice.”

Sakusa peers at him suspiciously. “Miya, are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been acting out-of-sorts the whole day and now you’re looking kind of flushed.”

“I’m fine!” Atsumu says, a bit too loudly. 

Sakusa startles slightly. “Okay. If you say so. Well, I should get going then.”

“Okay,” Atsumu says awkwardly.

Sakusa stands up and makes for the exit, pauses, and turns around. “Get some more rest, Miya. I’ll see you around.”

Then he leaves. Atsumu releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

Fuck. He’s really in trouble now, isn’t he?

“Oh, good. The snobby jerk’s gone,” Osamu says, poking his head out of the kitchen. 

“You know, for a chef whose signature dish is tuna onigiri, you sure do have a lot of beef with the local coffee shop owner.”

“Oh, you fancy yourself a comedian now?” Osamu mocks. Then he frowns when he notices Atsumu’s face. “Why’re you all blotchy? Are you falling sick?”

“I’m fine,” Atsumu croaks. 

“Yeah, right. Go the fuck home, for god’s sake,” Osamu chides. “You’ll just be useless if you stay.” 

Obediently, Atsumu obliges, and prepares to leave. 

“Don’t you dare get sick now,” Osamu warns as he’s leaving. “It’s gonna be summer soon, and it gets busy here this time of year!”

Atsumu groans at the reminder. God, summers at Onigiri Miya are the worst. He totters out of the store, feeling very sorry for himself.  
  
  
  
  
If only he had known what was coming for him that summer, Atsumu would have purchased a hundred bottles of blueberry juice and a one-way ticket to Europe without so much as a second thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hes become self-aware everybody
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	8. Schemes and Dreams

Atsumu hates summer. It's too hot, too sweaty, and there’s too many insects everywhere. Plus summer means there's no classes, so Osamu expects him to be at the store all hours of the day, which fucking sucks. But above all else, Atsumu hates summer because summer means Suna. 

"Oi, move your stuff outta the way before Rin comes," Osamu says, nudging Atsumu's futon with his foot. 

Atsumu, barely awake, lets out a long and loud groan. He’d known this was coming, but it's been barely a week since his summer break started! Trust Suna to never let him have an easy time. Every fucking time summer rolls around, Suna comes over to Tokyo and Atsumu gets kicked out of the room to sleep on the couch. This is bad enough in itself, but the air conditioning unit in the living room is notoriously shit at its job, and Tokyo summers are insanely hot. 

"When's he coming?” Atsumu groans. “Tomorrow?" 

"Tonight."

"Very funny. I saw his social media update. He just sat for his last paper, so I know he's still in Kobe." 

"Yeah, that's why I said _tonight_ and not right fucking now, idiot."

No fucking way. After Atsumu’s last final he went home and slept for seventeen hours straight. Suna just concluded his own hellish week of exams and the first thing he does is to drag himself onto a nine hour bus ride to Tokyo? And for what? To see Osamu’s face? That's ridiculous. Even if he was dating the loveliest person on earth, Atsumu would still pick sleep over them in a heartbeat. 

"Can't we all just share the room?" He whines. "We used to do that all the time in high school when he slept over." 

Osamu pauses where he's been intently typing away on his phone. Probably wishing Suna a safe trip, because they're gross like that. He fixes Atsumu with a blank stare. 

"Tsumu. I don't know how to break this to you, but Rin and I are very definitely having sex tonight."

Atsumu screams. 

He doesn't stop screaming even as he rolls off his futon and scrambles out of the room in record time.  
  


△

  
  
Very early on into him coming to terms with his crush on Sakusa, Atsumu realized that communicating with someone you’re attracted to without making a fool of yourself, is apparently very difficult and nearly impossible altogether. But Atsumu is nothing if not a problem-solver, so he’s made the executive decision to simply avoid Sakusa entirely. This is a lot easier said than done, because while Atsumu may be able to quash his ever-growing need to see Sakusa’s face every single day through the strength of willpower alone, his ever-present need for caffeine yields to nothing and no one, not even Atsumu and his pigheadedness.

But again, Atsumu is a brilliant problem-solver capable of coming up with alternative solutions to just about anything under the sun. Which is why under the guise of reducing his consumption of coffee, Atsumu has now gone nine whole days without any of the liquid gold, his highest number yet, everyone should be proud of him, really. Except in the place of coffee, he’s instead begun consuming an unholy number of energy drinks a day, and has been needing to pee about two times every hour. So maybe nobody should be proud of him after all. 

“That’s it,” Osamu snaps, swiping the half-drunk can away from Atsumu. “You’re gonna drop dead if you keep this up.”

“What? No, I’m not. I’m fine,” Atsumu says, vibrating in his seat. “Give it back.”

“No way. I thought the coffee was bad enough, but this is way worse with all that added sugar.”

“Whatever, I’ll just get myself another when you’re not looking,” Atsumu mutters. 

Osamu acts very swiftly and decisively in response to this, throwing out Atsumu’s entire stash of radioactively-coloured drinks, and implementing a blanket ban within their household on all further purchases of such beverages. This is how Atsumu knows he means business, because not even Suna is spared from this prohibition. 

”What am I meant to drink now?” Suna asks in horror. 

“Water, like a normal human being,” Osamu says dryly. 

“That’s disgusting, babe.”  
  


△

  
  
Now that Atsumu’s avoid-Sakusa-at-all-costs plan has been thwarted, he has little choice but to surreptitiously visit The Daily Bean for his caffeine fix at odd hours where Sakusa isn’t on shift. So far he’s been rather successful in this endeavour, and has not once encountered Sakusa. The thing that dwells within Atsumu’s rib cage isn’t too happy with this arrangement, but his brain, ever the voice of reason, beats it back with a stick, screaming _This is what’s best for us!_

What a logician, his brain.

“Wow, those are some dark circles you got there, Atsumu!” Komori comments, sliding his coffee across the counter. “Not sleeping well?’

Atsumu accepts the drink with a grunt of thanks. “Osamu’s boyfriend is in town, and they’ve been going at it like rabbits in heat,” he says miserably. 

Komori barks out a laugh, then quickly apologizes at the glare Atsumu sends him. “It’s not funny, it’s nasty,” Atsumu complains.

“Right, right,” Komori says, still suppressing a giggle. “Oh, yeah. You still haven’t told me what you think about our two shops partnering up!”

Atsumu sighs. 

“Don’t sigh!” Komori says, indignant. “Us real family businesses have got to stick together to defeat the capitalist phony!”

“Please, let’s not talk about this. After you planted the stupid collab idea in my head I accidentally got Omi-kun on board too, and then Samu nearly flayed me for it.”

“What?” Komori says and then frowns, leaning forward. “What do you mean you got Kiyoomi ‘on board’?”

“I blabbed about proposing a collab to him thinking he’d just dismiss it but then he actually came to our store to talk to Samu about it. Which reminds me, I promised him I’d convince my brother to come round to the idea. Ugh.”

Komori gives him a baffled look. “You just mentioned it once? And Kiyoomi agreed?”

“Well, not immediately. He said he had to think about it, which is why he came to our shop afterwards...Motoya-kun, are you even listening?”

Komori is staring blankly at him, jaw slackened in wonder. “How did you do that? I’ve been suggesting it for months and he always tells me no!”

Atsumu blinks.

“Unbelievable!” Komori continues indignantly. “Why doesn’t he ever listen to me? I’m his cousin!” 

At this, Shouyou emerges from the kitchen with a tray of biscotti and a devious smile. “What’s happening? Is Komori-san having a crisis?

“I don’t like how you’re smiling, Hinata,” Komori accuses.

Shouyou sets the tray down on the counter, offering Atsumu a biscuit. He then smacks Komori’s hand away when he goes to help himself to one. 

“These are complimentary for paying customers only,” Shouyou comments flatly.

“I’m your boss, Hinata.”

“Exactly.”

Komori makes an offended noise. 

“So, what’s got Komori-san all bothered?” Shouyou asks, turning to Atsumu.

“Dunno,” Atsumu says, shrugging. “But apparently I got Omi-kun interested in a collab between our stores, which Motoya-kun thinks isn’t fair.”

“I’ve been asking him for months, Atsumu! Months!”

“So you’ve said.”

Shouyou claps his hands excitedly. “If Omi-san finally said yes, then does that mean we finally get to put our plan into action?” 

“Yes, Hinata,” Komori says, equally excited. “It’s time to show the world the recipes we’ve been perfecting!”

“Uhh, don’t mean to burst your bubbles, but Samu hasn’t actually agreed to any of this,” Atsumu interrupts. 

He gets two pairs of dirty looks directed at him. 

“Woah,” he says, “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

“Well, what are you waiting for, then?” Komori says, tone haughty. 

“Yeah!” Shouyou butts in bossily. “Go convince Osamu-san to agree to it!”

Atsumu scowls. If these are the people he works with, suddenly Sakusa’s ever-present glower makes a lot of sense. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But no promises.”  
  


△

  
  
“No,” Osamu says flatly, not bothering to look up from the _maguro_ he’s slicing.

“Listen," Atsumu protests loudly, "We gotta do something creative if we wanna stop the FamilyMart from stealing all our customers away!”

“Why should I listen to you?”

“Vox populi, Samu. I know what the people want.”

“On what grounds?”

“I’m a broke college student, and therefore one of our key demographics?”

Osamu looks up finally, shooting Atsumu an unimpressed look. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Why do you never listen to me!” Atsumu says indignantly. “My opinion ought to carry more weight around here! My name’s on the shopfront as much as yours is!”

“I can always rebrand as Onigiri Osamu.”

“That sounds disgusting,” Atsumu sneers. “No one would wanna eat here anymore.”

Osamu points the knife in his hand at his brother, then at the door. “Out.”

“Oh, knife,” Atsumu says weakly, backtracking out the kitchen.  
  
  
  
  
Dammit, if Osamu doesn’t agree to the whole collab idea, then it would seem like he made an empty promise to Sakusa, and he can’t have his crush thinking he’s a liar!

“Stupid Samu,” Atsumu mutters under his breath as he skulks around the store restlessly, rattling his brain for how else to persuade his brother. He eventually comes up with a new approach: appealing to Osamu’s emotions. 

He strikes after closing time, when Osamu’s busy making onigiri to take home for Suna. It’ll be way past a regular person’s dinnertime when they get back, meaning it’ll be just in time for lunch in GMT+Sunarin. Atsumu has strategically picked out this time and occasion, because he knows his brother’s guard is down whenever Suna’s even tangentially connected to any given situation. That, and the fact that he’s about to bring up a happy memory of Osamu’s, leads him to believe that the likelihood of success is the highest it’ll ever be. He needs to strike, and it needs to be now. 

“Hey, Samu,” he starts off casually, sliding into the counter seat. “Remember when we had that Valentine’s Day event back in February?”

Osamu, busy shaping an onigiri, simply grunts in response. No food item has been hurled at him yet, so Atsumu deems it safe to proceed.

“Remember how happy you made everyone?”

There had been tons of people that day, the store filled with countless couples cooing at Osamu's heart-shaped creations. Atsumu had had to repress the urge to roll his eyes all night long, surrounded by fools buying into the whole commercialized gimmick, even if it had been his idea in the first place. No matter, he contented himself with the knowledge that he was earning his brother more money than usual. Speaking of which. Osamu, despite his initial reluctance, had clearly enjoyed himself, smiling giddily at the sounds of people loudly praising his food, and relishing in the fact that he was contributing to their special day. There’s being drunk on love, and then there’s being drunk on other people’s love. His brother might not look like it, but he’s a huge sap who loves to make people happy. 

And Atsumu’s about to capitalize on that. 

“Wasn’t it nice?” He prompts again. 

“Hmm. I guess it was kinda nice,” Osamu hums, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Bingo. 

“Sooo, about the collab. You could make a lot of people happy again if you agreed to it. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Osamu’s smile vanishes. “Who?” He demands challengingly. “Who would I be making happy by agreeing to that idiotic idea?”

“...Me.”

Osamu lets out an exasperated huff of breath. “Oh, for god’s sake. Why are you so obsessed with wanting to work with them anyway? What, you in love with one of them or something?”

Atsumu stiffens. 

“N-no! Of course not, that’s ridiculous!” he exclaims after a moment. A moment too long. 

Osamu’s hands still, then slowly, slowly, he turns his gaze towards Atsumu. His expression is nothing short of plain horror. “No way,” he says emphatically. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not in love with anyone!” Atsumu squeals. 

“Who is it?” Osamu demands, wiping his hands on a towel and marching towards him. The misshapen lump of rice he’d been tending to lies forgotten on the counter. 

“No one!” Atsumu shrieks, then prepares to flee. 

Osamu snags him by the back of his shirt. Atsumu struggles, trying to wiggle free. But Osamu regularly lifts 10kg bags of rice, while Atsumu is a college student too broke to afford a gym membership. He’s doomed. 

“It better not be fucking Komori, there’s no way I’m letting that happen,” Osamu growls.

Oh, it’s so much worse than that. His brother has got no idea. 

“Let me go,” Atsumu begs.

“Not until you tell me the name of the poor bastard unlucky enough to have you falling for them.”

“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you, just let me go,” Atsumu lies. 

The second Osamu releases his grip, Atsumu is off like a bullet, barreling his way to the exit. But again, 10kg rice bag, no gym membership. He gets tackled to the ground and sat upon by Osamu.

“What the fuck,” Atsumu wheezes out as he gets flattened to the ground facedown. “Why’re you so damn heavy? And we’re fucking twins, how are you so much stronger than me?”

“Sorry you had to find out this way, but sitting down with your laptop all day and having a shit diet makes you a weak scrub, you scrub.”

Atsumu groans weakly, face smushed into the ground. “You’re so fucking heavy, oh my god. Get off, please.”

Osamu shifts, concentrating more of his weight onto his brother sprawled on the ground. Atsumu lets out a croak. “Is it Komori?” Osamu demands.

“No!”

“Hinata?”

“No! Please get off, Samu, you’re gonna crush me.”

“No way. You really fell for Kageyama?”

“It’s not Tobio! Look, Samu, if I get crushed to death, Mom’s gonna be really sad. You know I’m the favourite child!”

Osamu goes silent above him. For a second, Atsumu worries he’s crossed a line, but when Osamu speaks again, his voice is entirely devoid of emotion, having fully completed the mental process of elimination. 

"Now you're just doing this to spite me. Really Tsumu? You go and fall for the one person I can't stand?"

"First of all, that's a blatant lie - you can't stand loads of people, not just one. And it's not like I want to have a crush on Omi-kun, I can't help it okay!" 

Having gotten an answer, Osamu releases his brother, shifting to sit on the ground beside him. Atsumu rolls over, spreadeagled on the floor and heaving for breath. “You fat fuck,” he wheezes. “Could’ve squashed me like a bug.”

Osamu leans back on his hands, staring dully into the distance. “What do we do now?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Atsumu demands, still panting on the ground.

“I can’t believe you’re attracted to _Sakusa._ Give me one good quality of his. Quickly,” Osamu demands.

“Well, okay, um. He drinks his coffee using a metal straw! Which means..he cares about the turtles?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Atsumu?” 

“Look, I just think he’s nice!” Atsumu squawks. “And he has a cute smile. And maybe I wanna hold his hand? Also he’s really handsome, have you noticed?” 

Osamu groans. “Kill me already.”

“You’re one to talk!” Atsumu says indignantly, scrambling into a sitting position. “You and Sunarin are the grossest, nastiest, most horrible couple I have ever—”

“Fine. Let’s do the stupid collab.”

“—seen in my entire life! Wait, what?”

“The dumb joint promotion. I’m saying yes.”

Atsumu stares. Then he leans right in, encroaching upon Osamu’s personal space and getting a shove to the face in the process. 

“Really?” Atsumu demands, shaking Osamu by the shoulders. “Why? What changed your mind?”

“Let’s just say I realized that my brother’s an idiot who needs outside assistance with his love life,” Osamu deadpans, batting his hands away.

Atsumu lets out an indignant squeak, but Osamu is already getting up and returning to the counter. “Don’t say I never do nice things for you,” he grumbles.  
  


△

  
  
It’s with a skip in his step that Atsumu bursts into The Daily Bean several days later. Not even the fact that Suna had played his stupid gacha game with the volume cranked to the max all of last night, could detract from his excitement.

( _"Please turn the volume down,” Atsumu begs, voice muffled from where he’s stuffed his head under a pillow to block out the noise and light._

_“Nah. I feel more in the zone with the BGM on,” Suna says nonchalantly from where he’s curled up on the carpet, face illuminated by the brightly-coloured lights of his phone screen._

_“Why the fuck are you even out here?” Atsumu demands, turning to glare daggers at his friend. “Shouldn’t you be in bed cuddling with your boyfriend or some shit?”_

_Suna gives him an exasperated look, like Atsumu’s just asked him an incredibly stupid question. “Osamu’s sleeping, you idiot. I don’t wanna wake him up with the noise.”_

_Atsumu gapes. “What about me?! I’m trying to sleep here, too!”_

_Suna shrugs. “You’re not important.”_

_Then he goes back to blowing all his money on the stupid phone game. Atsumu buries his face into his pillow and screams._ ) 

Back in the present, Atsumu skips through the glass doors, swinging the bag of onigiri in his hand as he bounds towards the counter. 

“Osamu said yes!” Atsumu yells, dropping the bag in front of a bewildered Tobio, who proceeds to rifle excitedly through the contents of the bag.

Komori, busy with the milk frother, gives Atsumu a baffled expression. “What is this, ‘Say Yes to the Dress’? Can we have some context here?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Lose the sass, Motoya-kun. I put myself through the wringer for you the other day just to get Samu to agree to the collab.”

Komori’s eyes widen, and then he’s dropping the frother with a clatter to demand confirmation of the news. “Really? You managed to convince him? Oh, Atsumu, you miracle worker, you!”

Sakusa looks up from where he’s tamping some coffee grounds, staring at the splatter of milk on the worktop in dismay. Atsumu shrinks a little when he realizes Sakusa’s also on shift. Okay, he’ll just avoid talking to him, then. He can’t make a fool of himself if he doesn’t interact with Sakusa at all, right?

“Kiyoomi, you hear that? The collaboration is on!” Komori sings. 

“I knew that already, actually. Osamu came to see me the other day,” Sakusa replies in a bored tone.

Atsumu feels his blood run cold. This is the first time he’s hearing this. Surely his brother wouldn’t… He prays that whatever they talked about, had stayed strictly business only. But Sakusa doesn’t seem any different from usual, isn’t looking at him oddly or anything, so Atsumu thinks he’s safe for now.

“You’re no fun,” Komori grumbles. Then turning around, he yells, “Hinata! Come out from your little pastry cave, Atsumu’s come bearing great news! Oh, and your dinner too, I guess.”

“What’s happening? Why’s Komori-san making so much noise?” Shouyou complains, wandering out of the kitchen. His eyes light up when he spots the onigiri on the counter, dashing over to elbow Tobio out of the way. Atsumu watches as they tussle over one of Osamu’s creations. 

“Let go, you little scrub!” Tobio snaps.

“No, you let go!” Shouyou grumbles, then squawks in indignation as Tobio snatches the rice ball out of his grasp and holds it just out of his reach.

“Give it back!”

“No way,” Tobio growls. “There’s way more in the bag anyway!”

“But I want that flavour!”

But Tobio refuses to relent. Shouyou glares, then trots over dejectedly to root around in the plastic carrier for another flavour. Tobio hesitates for a moment, then holds out the onigiri for him to take. 

“Here,” Tobio mumbles, looking to the side. “You can have it I guess.”

Atsumu’s surprised. The onigiri they’d been fighting over is curry-flavoured, and Atsumu knows for a fact that Tobio loves curry more than anything. Shouyou eyes the proffered rice ball for a second, then turns his nose away pointedly. 

“I’m not taking something you decided you no longer want,” Shouyou says sulkily, then fishes out a tuna onigiri and turns away.

Atsumu watches Tobio’s face fall. He sighs to himself. These two idiots will be the death of him.

“Oi, Hinata! Did you catch any of what I said?” Komori says impatiently. “Osamu said yes to the collab!”

Shouyou’s eyes widen, then he lets out a loud whoop and rushes forward to give Komori a high-five. 

“Are you ready, Hinata?” Komori asks manically. “It’s time to show that stinky FamilyMart what we’ve got!”

“Yeah!” Shouyou cheers. "Time to show them that I put the pound in pound cake!”

Beside him, Tobio lets out a loud snort. "Yeah, cause you weigh like one singular pound, you runt." 

Shouyou whirls around to send a vicious jab into his side. Tobio yelps. "Shut up, Kageyama! The punchline is 'I'll pound you into the dirt'! Stop ruining things for me everytime I try to say something cool!" 

Sakusa sighs, then turns to face Atsumu, who starts to panic. He hadn’t expected Sakusa to come and talk to _him_ instead. 

“Did Osamu tell you about my suggestion from when we talked?” Sakusa asks quietly. “What do you think of it?”

“Oh, that. Uh, he actually didn’t tell me he came to see you,” Atsumu stammers, mentally cursing Osamu out for going behind his back. “But I’m sure they’re good ideas, Omi-Omi!”

“Nah. It’s Kiyoomi, they’re probably boring as hell,” Komori butts in. 

Sakusa scowls. “I thought since Onigiri Miya has more of a traditional ambience, it would only be fitting if we matched them by introducing various Japanese teas to the promotional menu. Osamu seemed to like the idea.”

“Like I said, boring!” Komori groans. “Look, I have this recipe for a blended drink I’ve been developing, and it’d be perfect for a summertime joint menu!”

Sakusa opens his mouth to deliver a retort, but Atsumu beats him to it. “Um. Actually, Osamu’s planning to create a few seasonally-appropriate bentos, so we can probably fit both your ideas into the menu. He says he’ll update you guys when he’s picked out what ingredients he wants to use, then we can decide on the drinks and desserts for the bento sets.”

“That’s a sensible plan,” Sakusa remarks.

“Mm, as long as I get to put my recipe out there, I’m happy!” Komori agrees joyfully, doing a little shimmy. He then tries to cajole Tobio into joining him, to which Tobio obediently obeys, wiggling awkwardly beside him like a salted slug. Shouyou laughs hysterically. 

Atsumu grins at the sight, and can’t help but think maybe, just maybe, this summer might just be alright after all.  
  
  
  
  
The illusion is shattered the moment he gets back to Onigiri Miya. 

“Go pack your bags,” Osamu says.

Atsumu had always known this was coming, but he just hadn’t expected it to come quite so soon.

“Are you kicking me out?” Atsumu asks, horrified. “Is this because I ate Sunarin’s fruit jellies? I’m sorry, okay! I even made sure to only eat the orange ones, I know he likes those the least!”

Osamu’s brows furrow. “What? You ate Rin’s jellies? You piece of shit, he thought that was me!”

“Oops,” Atsumu says sheepishly. “Wait. If this isn’t about that, then why are you kicking me out?”

“Nobody’s kicking you out, stop being dramatic,” Osamu says bluntly.

Atsumu glares. “Then why are you asking me to pack my things?”

“Because you’re going on a trip to Shizuoka to look at tea leaves. Oh, and you’re going with Sakusa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry there was such a huge delay between the last chapter and this...shortly after i finished the prev update, i hit a writers block so I took a break from ao3 and writing OTL 
> 
> ((i promise to do better lol)) 
> 
> anyway im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


	9. Et tu, Brother?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu goes on a not-date

Atsumu was cursed as a baby, and the curse’s name is Osamu. That is the only way this abject betrayal can be rationalized.

“What the fuck?” Atsumu screeches. Horrified doesn't even begin to describe the mixture of panic, fear, and dread bubbling within his gut right now. “How could you do this to me? Don’t you know I’ve been avoiding him?!”

“I know that,” Osamu says lazily. “Kiyoomi mentioned how you haven’t been round to their shop for awhile now.”

Atsumu chokes on air. “No. No way. No fucking way. ‘Kiyoomi’?! Since when have you been on a first name basis with him?”

Osamu waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know, I’ve been talking with Kiyoomi lately, and I realized I may have judged him too quickly. Kiyoomi’s a good guy. Real nice, too, that Kiyoomi.”

Okay, now he’s just doing it on purpose. There’s no reason he needs to use Sakusa’s given name that many times in as few sentences.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Atsumu hisses. 

Osamu shrugs.

“I’m your brother,” Atsumu begs. “You can’t do this to me.”

“You’re an employee before you are my brother,” Osamu says languidly, and Atsumu begins seriously contemplating putting in his two weeks’ notice right then and there. 

Then Osamu jabs a finger at him. “Don’t even think about getting out of this. I’ve already bought your train ticket.”  
  


△

  
  
As if the whole set-up hadn’t been bad enough, Osamu further enlists the help of Suna to drive Atsumu to the shinkansen station, mostly to make sure Atsumu doesn’t run away from the nightmare Osamu’s created for him. This also means that Suna is now very aware of Atsumu’s crush on Sakusa, a fact he has taken great pleasure in teasing Atsumu mercilessly about. “It’s like seven minutes in heaven, except it’s seven hours in Shizuoka,” he had cackled.

Yes, seven hours. Apparently the whole “go pack your bags” thing had been a ruse, because Osamu ended up being too cheap to pay for overnight accommodation, so they’d had to shorten it to just a day trip. This entailed some rescheduling, meaning they’ll only visit one tea plantation instead of three, but honestly Atsumu doesn’t know enough about tea for the extra two to make a difference. Also he’s mostly just glad that his brother isn't enough of a schemer to try and ‘accidentally’ book only one hotel room for him and Sakusa. 

“Alright, we’re here,” Suna announces as they pull up to the station. Atsumu grunts unhappily. 

“Got everything you need?” Suna asks. “Money? Snacks? Need me to run and get you a juice box?”

Atsumu growls. “Stop fussing over me. I’m not a fucking kid, asshole.”

“Aw, but our little Atsumu is about to go on his very first date! Of course I have to fuss!” Suna coos, reaching out a hand across the center console to pinch Atsumu’s cheek. 

He ducks away, giving Suna’s outstretched hand a hard slap. Suna glares, then swiftly pinches the underside of Atsumu’s upper arm and twists harshly. Atsumu screams, flailing his other hand out to slap Suna savagely. From there it devolves into a slapping match filled with dirty tactics and underhanded tricks. It’s a good thing Suna had parked the car earlier, because it now gives Atsumu the opportunity to unclick his seatbelt and wrench the passenger door open. He tumbles out onto the kerb and slams the door shut, fully prepared to run away while Suna’s still trapped in the driver’s side of the car, but Suna stops him. 

“Wait, Atsumu. Don’t go yet,” Suna calls through the rolled-down window. “There was something I wanted to tell you.”

Something in his tone makes Atsumu pause, turning around with his backpack slung over one shoulder to squint suspiciously at him. Suna hesitates. Then he seems to change his mind, and instead shakes his head dismissively. 

“Nevermind.”

“Spit it out, bastard,” Atsumu says irritatedly. 

“Nah, it’s nothing. But look, I got you something.” 

Then he tosses a box at Atsumu, who fumbles with his bag as he catches it. When he takes a closer look at what it is, he feels his cheeks heat up at the same time a manic cackle bursts out of Suna.

“Fuck you, Sunarin,” Atsumu shouts, chucking the box of condoms back through the open window. It hits Suna square in the head, bouncing off to land on the passenger seat.

Still snickering, Suna picks up the box and rattles it at Atsumu. “Sure you don’t want it? Guess Osamu and I will use it then.”

Atsumu glares. “I hate you.”

“Whatever,” Suna shrugs. “Off you go now, or you’ll be late for your date with _Omi-Omi.”_

Atsumu flushes again. “It’s not a fucking date,” he hisses. “It’s for _work.”_

Suna rolls his eyes. “Eh, business, pleasure. Same thing.”

“No, it’s not!” Atsumu cries, stamping his feet.

“Whatever,” Suna says. “Anyway, time for you to get going. Toodles, lover boy!”

An angry retort is already at the tip of his tongue, but Suna rolls up the window and peels away from the sidewalk. Atsumu settles for pointing his middle finger angrily at Suna’s rental car as he speeds away.  
  
  
  
  
Atsumu finds Sakusa at the platform area within the station. It’s not hard, considering Sakusa’s half a head taller than everyone else and scowling so hard that there’s an actual berth around him as people avert their gazes, deliberately avoiding the angry giant man. Atsumu had spent the short trip from outside the station to the platform fuming at Suna, so he hadn’t adequately steeled himself for the mortifying reality that he’s about to spend the whole day with his crush. His currently very angry-looking crush. Atsumu suddenly feels very small, as he shuffles up to Sakusa. 

“Hi,” Atsumu mumbles as he approaches. Sakusa looks up from his phone, Atsumu shrinking a little under his piercing gaze. But then his eyes seem to soften above his mask. 

“Oh good. You’re here,” he says quietly. “I was afraid you might have overslept.”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t. So here I am,” Atsumu replies, and immediately curses himself out for his awkwardness. 

“Yes. Well, shall we enter the train then?” Sakusa prompts, when Atsumu does nothing but stare at the jut of his collarbone peeking out through the top of his sweatshirt. He jumps, and hastily averts his gaze.

“Right, yeah. Sorry, let’s go,” Atsumu blurts, cringing at the squeaky quality his voice has taken on. 

After they settle into their seats, Atsumu busies himself with scrolling through his social media while Sakusa potters away wiping down his seat, table, and armrests using disinfecting wet wipes. When he’s done, he roots around in his bag some more before nudging Atsumu and handing him a thermos. 

Atsumu blinks. “For me?”

“It’s coffee,” Sakusa intones. “I assume you haven’t had any yet?”

Atsumu melts at the surprisingly considerate gesture. Gratefully, he accepts the flask and wills his heart into a more normal rhythm. _It’s just coffee,_ screams his brain. 

Atsumu carefully uncaps the flask and takes a sip, the drink still icy-cold in the way Atsumu normally takes his coffee. His eyes widen in surprise. “Omi-kun, you stopped by the cafe on the way here?”

“No, I made it at home.”

“But it tastes exactly like the coffee I buy from you!” Atsumu marvels. 

Sakusa shrugs. “I have equipment at home,” he says simply. 

And then the conversation lulls. Atsumu fidgets in his seat, not used to extended silences. “Hey, um, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa lets out a questioning hum, engrossed in some hardback novel whose title Atsumu has never heard of before. 

“How come Motoya-kun isn’t coming today?”

Sakusa pauses, then looks up from his book, expression sour. Or at least, that’s the impression Atsumu gets from his eyes above the mask. “What, already sick of me? We’re barely into our first hour, Miya.”

Atsumu panics. “No! No, I enjoy your company! It’s just that, I thought Motoya-kun would have wanted to come along too. You know, since it’s a trip out of town and all,” Atsumu finishes lamely, already wishing he had just kept his mouth shut. 

Sakusa shrugs. “I thought so too, but he was strangely agreeable with me going alone. In fact, he was very insistent that he wouldn’t accompany me on this trip. I don’t pretend to understand the whims of my cousin, so I can’t tell you his reasoning for not putting up a fight this time round.”

Suddenly Atsumu gets a very bad feeling about this. 

Later, When Sakusa gets up to use the washroom, he hastily dials Komori, who answers on the first ring. 

“Ooh, trouble in paradise already?” Komori sings, something Atsumu really hadn’t wanted to hear, because it only serves to confirm his suspicions. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’m gonna kill Samu.”

First Suna, now Komori? His brother might as well have told the whole of the Greater Tokyo Area while he was at it. 

“I hear the tea plantations are really scenic. Good choice for a first date, Atsumu!”

“Fuck you,” Atsumu hisses, then hears a tittering of laughter over the phone. His eyes narrow. That was too much laughter for one person. “I swear to god,” he threatens, “Shouyou-kun, if that’s you in the background…”

“Kageyama’s here too, Atsumu-san!” Shouyou intones brightly on the other end of the line. 

Fuck. He can’t believe this. 

“I hate you,” Atsumu snaps. “Every single one of you.”

“I’m sorry, Atsumu-san. But good luck on your date,” Tobio says in the background, earnest as ever. Somehow the sincerity in his words makes it so much worse. 

“I’m hanging up,” Atsumu says, voice strained. “And Motoya-kun, I’m begging you, whatever horrible little thing you might be planning, please just don’t.”

“What’s Motoya done now?” Sakusa asks suspiciously from beside him. Atsumu jumps, not having noticed his return. 

“Who knows, at this point?” Atsumu says weakly. 

Sakusa gives him a strange look, then settles back into his seat with his book. Atsumu puts his head in his hands and tries very hard not to scream.  
  
  
  
  
Sometime during the ride Atsumu falls asleep, something he didn’t realize until he felt himself being roused by a tap to the shoulder. 

“Mmrgh?” Atsumu mumbles blearily, still drifting between consciousness and slumber. 

“Wake up, Miya. We’re here,” Sakusa says. At the sound of his voice, Atsumu snaps awake instantly. 

“You drool in your sleep,” Sakusa points out. 

Atsumu lets out an embarrassed squeak and fumbles to quickly wipe at his mouth where the tell-tale tracks of saliva are still congealing. 

Sakusa wrinkles his nose in disgust. Wordlessly, he moves to step off the train. Atsumu scrambles to follow suit, wincing as the late morning sun hits him square in the eyes. As the spots in his vision clear, he realizes that Sakusa’s taken off his sweatshirt now that they’re no longer in the air-conditioned train interior, leaving him in a thin linen shirt. Atsumu short-circuits, like a Victorian man catching a glimpse of a bare ankle for the first time. Yeah, it’s summer so he shouldn’t be too surprised at Sakusa’s wardrobe choice, but this is the most skin Atsumu has ever seen on him, and the fabric is all loose and flowy and fuck, he looks _good_. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Sakusa says in a bored tone, hefting his tote bag over one shoulder. 

Atsumu gulps. Today’s gonna be a long day.  
  


△

  
  
They find their guide waiting for them outside the station, a middle-aged lady who greets them cheerily and introduces herself as the daughter of the tea plantation owners they’re supposed to meet later on, but Atsumu’s too busy staring at Sakusa in his flowy shirt to properly internalize whatever she’s saying.

After that, it’s a short cab ride over to the farm itself, and their guide chatters on the entire time, which is for the best since Atsumu doesn’t think he’s capable of saying anything intelligent at this point. Sakusa listens intently to her explanation of the tea manufacturing process, eyes gleaming in interest above his mask, and the sight is so endearing that Atsumu has to will himself to stare out the window at the passing scenery instead, before he does something stupid like call Sakusa cute out loud. 

When they finally arrive at the plantation itself, they’re greeted by rolling hills blanketed in green, rows and rows of tea shrubs stretching out endlessly in all directions. The sky, clear and without a passing cloud in sight, lends itself the perfect backdrop for framing Mount Fuji, which stands tall and proud beyond all the lush green.

“It’s beautiful,” Sakusa comments to the guide, who nods enthusiastically and launches into yet another spiel on tea harvesting techniques. 

The guide offers to give them a brief tour around the plantation before they meet her parents to talk business, and Sakusa starts to nod eagerly before he seems to remember that he’s accompanied by one Miya Atsumu, known Crocs wearer. His eyes dart over to Atsumu’s feet, surveying his choice of footwear for the day to determine its suitability for trekking about the farm. 

“I’m wearing proper shoes today!” Atsumu cries, flushing a deep scarlet at the intense stare Sakusa uses to appraise his attire.

“I can see that,” Sakusa says bemusedly. “Although, I was beginning to think you owned nothing but Crocs, so this is a pleasant surprise.”

Atsumu bites back a retort, mostly because Sakusa’s actually closer to the truth than he realizes. Atsumu really does wear nothing but Crocs. The sneakers he’s wearing today are Osamu’s, and Suna had had to wrangle them onto his feet this morning at the genkan as they were leaving, screaming at him to _“leave the Crocs behind or your Omi-Omi will never love you back!”_ Atsumu is more than a little ashamed to admit just how well that threat had worked, and his presently Croc-less feet are proof of that. 

Probably satisfied that his companion won’t be complaining of rocks in his shoes or trekking around in dirt-encrusted feet the whole day courtesy of the in-built holes of his footwear, Sakusa turns back around and tells the guide that they’ll be more than happy to be given a tour of the area. She nods happily, then takes them on a hike up the hills of the farm, chatting away all the while. Whatever she’s saying is probably interesting, because Sakusa nods along and listens in fascination, occasionally interrupting with a question of his own which she seems all too happy to answer. Again, Atsumu isn’t paying attention, because the cloudless, sunny conditions mean that Sakusa has now unbuttoned another button of his shirt, and the widened neckline is slipping dangerously close to falling off one shoulder entirely with the way the weight of his tote bag drags the fabric towards one side. 

Sakusa seems to notice he’s being stared at, and looks up, eyes meeting Atsumu’s, a questioning look in them. Atsumu wrenches his gaze away, feigning interest in a shrub like it’s especially interesting in particular, and not the exact same shade, size, and shape as all the other shrubs everywhere around them. 

Oh, he can’t wait for this personal hell to be over.  
  
  
  
  
When they’ve reached the highest point of the hills, the view really is nothing short of spectacular, with vast rows of verdant green tiered upon the land in a uniform maze that spans as far as the eye can see. Unbidden, fragments of Komori’s words from before come floating into Atsumu’s mind, harrowing auditory hallucinations of _scenic_ and _good choice for a first date, Atsumu!_ looping in his mind relentlessly. 

“What are you thinking about? You look troubled,” Sakusa says from beside Atsumu, having inched closer while Atsumu was paralyzed with terror at Komori’s voice in his head. He jumps at their sudden proximity. 

“Nothing!” Atsumu shouts. “Just thinking about how this place would be good for a first date!”

Atsumu has been told by multiple people on multiple separate occasions that he lacks a brain-to-mouth filter, but it is only now that he realizes the full extent of this deficiency. He immediately clamps a hand over his own mouth, face burning so hot that he wonders if this is how human spontaneous combustion begins. 

Sakusa furrows his brows, seeming to consider Atsumu’s words for a moment. “I suppose so,” he says after awhile. “Would you take someone here on a date?”

Atsumu blanches. Is Sakusa really asking him that?

“Yes,” he blurts out, then quickly tamps his response with a more subdued, “I mean, maybe.”

Sakusa nods thoughtfully. Feeling bold, Atsumu hesitates only slightly before asking, “Would you? Take someone here on a date, I mean.”

“I don’t see why not,” Sakusa says, shrugging.

Somehow this knowledge has Atsumu’s face heating all over again. Sakusa barely seems to notice this, bending down to inspect a particular shrub. 

“May I touch the leaves?” He asks the guide politely, who appears all too happy to oblige.

Atsumu turns away from him and wills his racing heartbeat to calm down.  
  
  
  
  
They go to meet the people who run the plantation when they’ve had their fill touring the entire farm, by which Atsumu means Sakusa’s had his fill, because Atsumu himself got bored very early on (there’s only so long a bunch of shrubs can hold his attention for), and the rest of the hike quickly became too hot and sweaty for his liking. The lady takes them to a traditional-style teahouse, where Atsumu quickly shucks off his shoes and darts into the welcomed shade of the indoors, gratefully sprawling onto the tatami flooring. He closes his eyes, flopping over onto his back and sighing contentedly. 

Someone clears their throat from above him. 

Atsumu opens an eye, and finds an elderly woman glaring disdainfully at him. She’s clad in a kimono, and her grey hair has been pulled so tightly into a bun that it probably does double duty as a temporary facelift. Beside her, an elderly man shuffles into the room also in traditional garb, except he looks more amused at Atsumu’s antics than anything. Atsumu hastily sits up, slightly chastened. Sakusa and the guide step into the room now, and Sakusa’s eyes seem to spark with mirth when he sees Atsumu’s embarrassed expression. Bastard. 

“Some level of decorum would be welcome, young man,” the old lady says snootily to Atsumu. He scowls. Who on earth is this old lady and who does she think she is to be imposing rules upon—

“Mom! These are the businessmen from Tokyo I told you about. They’re looking to sell our tea at their restaurants!”

Atsumu’s eyebrows leap into his hairline. No way. This haughty old hag is the mother of the cheery guide who’s brought them around this whole time? There’s absolutely no resemblance between them, not when the old lady is all angular and stiff, while their guide has a round, smiling face. 

The old lady sniffs pointedly. “I know. And they’re late.”

Atsumu bristles at that, opening his mouth to retort that _it’s not our fault your farm is so goddamn huge that it took us this long to get here_ but Sakusa cuts in before he can cause anymore damage. 

“I apologize, Chida-san,” Sakusa says politely. “We were too caught up in the beauty of your farm that we lost track of time. Your daughter also happens to be an excellent guide, by the way.”

The old lady narrows her eyes at this, but seems mollified nonetheless. She waves her hand, dismissing her daughter, who gives Sakusa and Atsumu one last jovial wave and then she’s gone, presumably to entertain other tourists or something. Atsumu’s spent the better part of the day distracted by Sakusa and not actually paying attention to her, but now that she’s gone he finds himself missing her presence greatly; her mother isn’t quite as nice. 

“Bring the tea and snacks in,” the old lady commands, and Atsumu watches in sympathy as her husband nods, then dutifully goes to fetch the requested items. 

While waiting, Sakusa strikes up a conversation with her on the different types of tea her brand produces, and Atsumu rolls his eyes when he hears him spew lines taken verbatim from their guide earlier. It seems to work though, and the old lady nods approvingly at Sakusa as she answers his questions. Questions which he’d already asked and gotten answers from their guide earlier. What a sycophant. 

By the time her husband comes back, Sakusa has fully won the old lady over. 

“Sakusa-kun, do you eat a lot of seaweed? Your hair is such a dark black. So healthy, too,” the old lady says appreciatively while setting up the table for tea-tasting. She shoots Atsumu’s bleached-to-death hair a pointed look as she says this.

Atsumu’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance, making an obscene gesture when her back is turned. Sakusa snorts a little at this, then masks it by pretending to cough politely. The old lady continues to coo over Sakusa, all while Atsumu sits and fumes, pretending not to take offence when she refers to Sakusa as a “handsome young man” but to himself as just “young man”. 

“Sakusa-kun, you enjoy umeboshi? Now that’s something I don’t hear often from people your age,” the old lady praises, intercepting from her husband a selection of traditional Japanese sweets and setting them onto the low table in the middle of the room, alongside the tray of tea her husband put down earlier. 

Atsumu notes that she’s put the food closer to Sakusa than him, and that she’s also handed Sakusa a toothpick but not him. Huh. Two can play at this game. Spitefully, Atsumu forgoes the toothpicks and picks up a large daifuku using his bare hands. He takes a huge, inelegant bite and chews loudly, making sure to smack his lips obnoxiously. Then he pops the rest of the daifuku into his mouth and washes it down with a cup of tea he grabs from the table at random, slurping loudly. When he's done, he wipes off the excess rice flour from the daifuku onto the tablecloth. The old lady twists her lips in displeasure. Atsumu smiles back, all teeth. 

“That was a premium blend of tea,” she says, gritting her teeth as she glares Atsumu down. 

“Oh, was it? Oops,” Atsumu says airily. “Sorry.”

He’s not. 

The old lady glares some more, then sends her husband out to replenish the tea Atsumu had guzzled. Then, turning to Sakusa, she smiles warmly and assures him that she’ll _get him another daifuku, not to worry, dear._ With that, she steps out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. 

Atsumu glares at her retreating back. “Fucking hag,” he says venomously once she’s left. “I’m so gonna take a shit in her tea gardens before we go.”

“Atsumu. Please do not pick fights with the elderly,” Sakusa chides, but the corners of his eyes are crinkled in amusement. 

“She started it first!” Atsumu exclaims indignantly.

“Oh? Is this about her not calling you ‘a handsome young man’?” Sakusa teases, then laughs. 

Atsumu stares. At some point Sakusa had taken off his mask, and it’s a good thing he had, because Atsumu is now treated to the sight of Sakusa with his pearly-whites on display as he laughs, actually laughs, not just a snicker or a smirk. Atsumu did that. He made _Sakusa_ laugh. Okay, it’s less Sakusa laughing because of him and more Sakusa laughing _at_ him, but still. He got Sakusa to laugh! And it’s such a nice sound too, all lilting melody and tinkling cadence. Atsumu feels his face heat up. Fucking hell. Since when did he become the kind of guy to describe someone’s laughter as _melodious_ and _tinkling?_

“Shut up,” Atsumu mumbles, but doesn’t mean it. Sakusa’s laughter is really nice, and he doesn’t want him to stop. 

Beside him, Sakusa lets out another peal of laughter, and just like that, Atsumu’s sour mood clears up considerably.  
  


△

  
  
Still, by the time the sun is setting, Atsumu is this close to begging Sakusa if they can just go already. They’ve already made their choice of tea to purchase (Sakusa did actually, Atsumu had been too busy pulling ugly faces at the old lady to pay attention to the different taste profiles of the tea), and the old lady promises a shipment of it will be delivered to The Daily Bean’s address soon, so the only thing holding them back from freedom is the old lady herself. Sometime between the tea-tasting and the finalizing of the delivery details, she must have decided Sakusa to be her newfound beloved grandson, because she’s now gripping both his hands in her wrinkled hag hands and emphatically wishing him a safe trip back to Tokyo. Atsumu thinks if he rolls his eyes any harder they’ll fall right out of his skull.

Sakusa looks uncomfortable at the skin contact, but plasters on a polite smile regardless and nods along good-naturedly at her well-wishes. Watching Sakusa behave this well-mannered to an old person would be endearing if not for the fact that Atsumu wants nothing more than to fisfight this little old lady. Sure, she might be over seventy and barely five feet tall, but as Osamu had (rightfully) pointed out, Atsumu has a terrible diet and never exercises, so they’d probably be pretty evenly-matched. Eventually, Sakusa manages to pull away from her witchy clutches, and bows politely one final time before they leave, trudging back down the hill where there’s hopefully still cabs around to take them back to the train station. Wordlessly, Atsumu fishes around in his backpack and hands Sakusa a bottle of hand sanitizer. 

“It’s no Kuromi brain juice, but it’ll still work against that old hag’s germiness,” Atsumu mutters. 

Sakusa stares at him for a bit, then throws his head back and laughs. Atsumu blushes.

“You know, if you’re still planning on taking a shit in one of these bushes, we’ve still got a bit of time before we have to get back to the station,” Sakusa says mischievously as he works the sanitizer into his hands in his usual rabid raccoon fashion. 

And then it’s Atsumu’s turn to laugh, loud and unrestrained.  
  
  
  
  
This time, when they board the shinkansen, it’s with none of the fumbling and awkward silences from the morning. They trash-talk the old lady as they settle into their seats, snickering and giggling uncontrollably to themselves, and then the conversation slips into less mean-spirited topics as the train departs. Even so, the laughter never subsides, because talking to Sakusa is always fun, and Atsumu finds that he’s missed this, just speaking without fearing if what he says comes off dumb or unattractive. He’d forgotten how enjoyable bantering with Sakusa was, before he’d gone and started crushing on him. 

Atsumu feels kind of dumb now, because he’d agonized so much over always making a good impression in front of Sakusa they’d he’d forgotten what it was about Sakusa that made him like him in the first place: Sakusa makes him feel comfortable. They’ve both got their fair share of idiosyncrasies, and Sakusa might poke fun at him for them, but Atsumu never feels like he has to put up a pretense when he’s around him, so now he feels stupid for avoiding Sakusa out of fear of judgement. He’s had the most fun today in a long while, and it’s mostly because he had let himself just _be himself_ today. So Atsumu decides then that he isn’t going to avoid Sakusa anymore.  
  
  
  
  
Atsumu falls asleep again on the ride back, and it’s dark out when he rouses, awoken by a tap to the shoulder. 

“Hey, we’re here.”

Sakusa’s voice is quiet, so Atsumu doesn’t wake all at once, blinking sleepily before he realizes where he is, whom he’s with, and _whom he’s fallen asleep on._ Sometime during the journey, he’d fallen asleep slumped against Sakusa’s side, _and drooled all over his sleeve._

“Oh, god. I am so sorry,” Atsumu gasps out, jerking away like he’s been burnt. 

Sakusa wrinkles his nose at the wet spot on his sleeve, and Atsumu apologizes profusely again, mortified at what he’s done. But then Sakusa just shrugs, and gathers up his stuff. He tosses Atsumu’s bag at him from where he’d dumped it unceremoniously on the floor, then waits for Atsumu to get his bearings, and then they amble off the train together. 

They part ways outside the station, but not before Sakusa wishes him a safe trip home, deliberately quoting the old lady’s parting words from before in a sing-song voice to coax one last laugh out of Atsumu. As he turns away to head in the other direction, Atsumu sees that Sakusa’s eyes are shining under the streetlight overhead. Atsumu sends him one final wave before he, too, heads home, unable to suppress the smile that plays on his lips the whole way home.  
  
  
  
  
It’s a perfect end to an almost-perfect day, so the last thing he expects to see when he steps into the threshold of his front door is one Komori Motoya lounging on his couch, sipping from a juice box and eating fried chicken.

“Oh, hey Atsumu!” Komori says cheerily, waving a drumstick in greeting.

Atsumu freezes in his tracks, good mood quickly dissipating. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh you know, I'm here to find out how your date with Kiyoomi went,” Komori says breezily. 

Osamu wanders out of the kitchen, chicken wing in hand. Beside him, Suna pops his head into view, sporting a menacing grin.

“Oh good. He’s back,” Suna says deviously. “Now, do tell us _all_ about your day, Atsumu.”

“And spare no details,” Komori adds on, cheerful tone belying the malicious glint in his eyes. 

Atsumu has never been more terrified in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it may be atsumus summer break but he can never catch a break


	10. Two-dimensional Pyramid Scheme

Atsumu is a good person. Okay, that’s not really true. He torrents movies and laughs when people fall down in public, so he’s not actually that good. But he’s not _bad,_ either. When babies cry on public transport he tries to make them laugh, and he would never commit murder, because that’s wrong. With that said, Osamu makes him want to break that rule very often. But Osamu doesn’t count as a person anyway, so it's a moot point. Anyway, the main thing is that Atsumu’s not a bad person at his core. He isn’t evil or anything, so there’s no good reason for why this should be happening to him. 

By this, he means the awful discussion of his love life happening right before him. 

“Okay, I haven’t seen this Sakusa guy so I can’t say for sure, but I’m sure there has to be, like, something fundamentally _wrong_ about him,” Suna declares. “I mean, _Atsumu’s_ attracted to him, so he’s probably weird as hell, right?”

“That’s what I thought too, but he’s surprisingly alright,” Osamu replies, busy mixing up a batch of dried salmon and diced mushrooms.

“No, Rin’s right. Kiyoomi’s weird as fuck,” Komori drawls, sprawled over the counter in the same manner he’s been wont to do ever since he and Suna decided to become best friends overnight and hang out everyday at Onigiri Miya to make Atsumu’s life as miserable as they possibly can. “You know he hangs his toilet paper under instead of over?”

Suna shudders. “What a psychopath.”

“Mhm,” Komori says, nodding in agreement.

“Okay but if he actually ends up liking Tsumu back, that’s how we’ll know he’s actually crazy,” Osamu says sagely. 

“I am literally right here,” Atsumu hisses. 

“Ignore him,” Suna says, waving a dismissive hand vaguely in his direction. 

“Oh. Well, I guess Kiyoomi’s crazy then,” Komori pipes up. 

Atsumu blinks. “What?”

Komori yawns, then stretches lazily, like a cat in the sun. “I’m starting to think he likes you too, Atsumu.”

Atsumu stares. “Huh?”

“Kiyoomi makes you a different latte art design everytime you come by, even though he does the same generic design for everyone else,” Komori explains. 

“Oh, that. He said it’s good practice for him, because I won’t mind if it comes out wonky,” Atsumu explains. 

Awhile back, Sakusa had asked if it was okay if he made him a hot latte instead of his usual iced americano, because he wanted to practise his free-pouring. Atsumu had agreed, and since then he’s been getting lattes everyday instead, because Sakusa smiles when his designs come out good, and Atsumu’s weak for that. He doesn’t really mind either, since he’s found lattes to taste good anyway. There’s just one tiny, tiny problem with this arrangement:

Atsumu is incredibly, irrevocably, lactose intolerant. 

Osamu looks up sharply from the bowl of onigiri fillings. “A _latte?_ Are you a fucking idiot? You know you’re not supposed to have any dairy!”

“Yeah, I know,” Atsumu says weakly, stomach already beginning to cramp from the latte he’d had earlier. 

Osamu turns his attention to Komori now. “What the hell has your cousin done to my brother? He used to say being in love was dumb, and now he’s out here voluntarily giving himself horrible stomachaches in the name of love.”

Komori shrugs. “To be fair, your brother was always kind of an idiot. Kiyoomi’s not entirely responsible for that.”

Suna bursts out laughing, then gives him a high five. 

“Like I said, I am right here,” Atsumu seethes. 

“Anyway. I can’t believe what a terrible liar Kiyoomi is. ‘Practise his free-pour’ my ass. Like he needs it — Kiyo’s insanely good at latte art, and he used to win competitions all the time until he stopped going because there just wasn’t any challenge. I’m telling you, he’s doing it because he likes you,” Komori insists. 

Atsumu flushes, smiling shyly. “You...you think so?”

Suna wrinkles his nose. “Ew. Gross.”

Atsumu scowls. “I don’t want to hear this from the guy who hangs out at his boyfriend’s shop all day being useless and just staring at him.”

“Samu, he’s being mean to me,” Suna complains, pointing an accusing finger at Atsumu. 

Osamu doesn’t even bother looking up when he says, “He’s not wrong. You’re just here to mooch food and look pretty.”

Suna preens, batting his eyes. “You think I’m pretty?”

Atsumu recoils in disgust. “That’s it. I’m leaving.”

“What, you going to the cafe? Tell Kiyoomi I say hi,” Komori chirps, like he isn’t the co-owner of said cafe, and like he shouldn't be working there right now instead of gossiping at someone else’s store. 

“No, I’m going to feed the cats. But you should know Omi-kun’s not gonna be happy about you skiving again,” Atsumu points out.

“I’m not skiving!” Komori protests. “I’m finalizing details about our joint promotion with Osamu. Isn’t that right, Rin?”

“Of course. Toya is the most hardworking person I’ve ever met,” Suna lies easily. 

“I wish the two of you had never met,” Atsumu intones tiredly as he leaves.  
  
  
  
  
When Atsumu returns from his cat-feeding excursion, he discovers that Osamu and Komori did in fact discuss work-related matters while he was gone, which should be positive news in theory.

Except it’s really, really, not, because Suna was involved in the discussion, and anything Suna touches instantly takes a turn for the worse. 

“We’ve decided to capitalize on the fact that it’s summer, and so there’s no school,” Suna announces as Atsumu returns, stepping gingerly into the store and deciding he does not like the identical devious smirks on his and Komori’s faces.

“You mean you’re trying to make money off of school children. That’s awful,” Atsumu says, because as everyone knows, he is the poster boy for good morals. 

“That’s right,” Komori says brightly, because he is remorseless like that. “And what do children love best?”

Atsumu squints. “Ethical business practices?”

“Of course not,” Komori says dismissively. “It’s cute things. Children love cute things.”

“And that’s where you come in,” Suna chimes in.

Atsumu frowns. “Because I’m cute?”

“Not at all,” Suna replies, far too quickly for Atsumu’s liking. “You are, however, the perfect candidate for _conveying_ something cute.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Atsumu demands. 

“A mascot,” Osamu says, rolling his eyes. “He means you’re gonna wear a mascot costume, Tsumu.”

“Oh no,” Atsumu whispers, horrified. 

His horror is all the more justified when he learns shortly thereafter that an online order has already been placed for the costume, a fleece and foam monstrosity which looks so hideous that he desperately tries outsourcing this terrible job. This proves a futile effort that only serves to confirm how vile the entire scheme is. Because not just one, but two separate individuals have declined to undertake this mascot job even under the offer of a generous sum of money. 

And these were no average people, either: Kawanishi Taichi was a self-professed broke and desperate college senior willing to take up any part-time job if the pay was good enough, his profile on the job listing site had declared. And yet even he turned down the offer when Atsumu had contacted him. _"I think I'll stick with my bartending job, thanks"_ he replied, before promptly blocking Atsumu's username. Next, he messaged Hanamaki Takahiro, another job-seeker willing to perform the oddest of odd jobs. But when informed of the job details, he similarly rejected the offer. _"I may be desperate for cash, but even I'm not desperate enough to wear that"_ were his parting words before he, too, ghosted Atsumu. 

”Please don’t make me wear the costume,” Atsumu pleads, resorting to begging now that he's exhausted all his options. It isn't very effective.

“Do it or I’ll tell this Sakusa guy you like him,” Suna threatens.

“...Fine.”

With this constant threat of blackmail looming over him, Atsumu is left with very little choice but to agree to wear the damn costume. Every passing day is just one day closer to the arrival of the abomination and the end of life as he knows it, so Atsumu spends his days in dread, until one day, the awful thing is finally delivered to Onigiri Miya's doorstep by courier.  
  


△

  
  
Atsumu wants to die.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks, _death would be a better alternative than this._

Spending his summer break in an anthropomorphic onigiri costume replete with a little smiling umeboshi had not been in his cards at all, but here he is anyway, huffing and puffing in the sauna that is this fat rice ball suit. Osamu has been wheezing so hard for the past fifteen minutes that he thinks his brother might drop dead any moment now. It would serve him right if he did. 

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Atsumu says acidly, voice muffled by the padding of the costume. “Because bullying your brother into an isosceles triangle is _so_ funny.”

“It’s fucking equilateral, you dumbass,” Osamu says as he catches his breath, “Isosceles triangles are only equal in length on two sides.”

“That’s nice. Only I don’t fucking care,” Atsumu grits out. 

Osamu glares, then gives him a kick. This, combined with the bulk of the costume, throws his center of gravity all off, and Atsumu shrieks, arms windmilling as he tries very hard not to faceplant. 

Osamu laughs at his efforts. “Shit. I wish Rin was here. He’d love this.”

That’s the only good thing about this entire shitty situation: Suna’s still fast asleep at home, so Atsumu mercifully has a few hours before the bullying really begins in earnest. But by then, there will be so little left of his self-respect that not even Suna’s tormenting can hurt him anymore. Not when his job is to dress like an (equilateral) triangular lump of rice, do a little song and dance, and hopefully his audience will be sufficiently charmed by this dignity-obliterating sequence to buy something from his brother's shop.

“Can I get out of this fucking thing now?” Atsumu grumbles. “You said today was just for fitting purposes. It fits. Great. Wonderful. Now can I please take it off?”

“Yeah. Hold on,” Osamu replies, typing on his phone. “Just gotta send Kiyoomi a picture of you as an onigiri.”

Atsumu blanches. “What?! Don’t fucking send him anything!”

Osamu sends an evil grin his way. “Too late.”

“You bastard!” Atsumu roars, before diving for Osamu, who nimbly sidesteps him and flees the store.

Atsumu gives chase, conveniently forgetting that he is currently triangle-shaped. You see, the thing about triangles is that they’re pointy and narrow at one end and not quite as pointy and narrow towards the base. Atsumu, in his single-minded pursuit of his brother, forgets this entirely and lunges straight for the door. 

He gets stuck.

One moment he’s barreling forwards, spurred on by pure rage and sheer momentum, and the next he’s stopped moving completely, rotund body wedged between the doorframe of the Onigiri Miya entrance. 

Osamu _loses_ it. 

“Fucking...fucking help me goddammit! Don’t just stand there!” Atsumu screams. 

Osamu laughs even harder. 

“Samu I swear to god, if you don’t help me out right now...”

“What will you do to me? You can't even move right now,” Osamu manages to wheeze out, in between gasping intakes of air.

Atsumu tries wriggling free. He doesn’t budge.

“Samu, I think I’m actually stuck!”

“Holy shit. Hold on, I gotta send this to Rin.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

If there’s anyone who can completely ruin someone’s life with blackmail material, it’s Suna Rintarou. And his Atsumu folder is already bursting at the seams as it is. 

“Wait till he photoshops the hair and passes it off as you, that’s when you’ll regret this,” Atsumu warns.

“Nah, nobody would believe that I’d be dumb enough to get myself stuck in a door dressed in an onigiri suit,” Osamu chokes out, hands trembling with laughter as he uses his phone to take a selfie with Atsumu in the background. He throws up a peace sign for good measure.

“Samu. I’m actually stuck, it’s not even funny.”

Osamu, winded from all the laughter, has to bend over to catch his breath. Straightening up, he takes a step towards Atsumu and gives him a swift kick to the middle. The impact jolts Atsumu and rattles the doorframe, but he remains jammed within the entryway.

“Bastard!” Atsumu yells. “Don’t kick me!”

“Shut up, I’m tryna get your fat ass out my fucking door,” Osamu grumbles, reaching forward and shoving. 

It doesn’t work. 

“What the hell?” Osamu mutters, then ducks his head to prod tentatively at the body of the costume.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Atsumu demands, vision obscured by the costume’s bulk.

“Shut up. Do you want me to leave you here or what?” Osamu snaps.

“You can’t. Nobody can enter the shop while I’m here, idiot.” 

Osamu pokes around some more, feeling around the sides of the costume lodged steadfast against the wood of the admittedly rather narrow door frame. 

“Oh shit,” Osamu mutters under his breath. “That’s not good.”

“What? What’s not good?” Atsumu asks, panicked.

“I can’t get you out.”

“Stop playing around, Samu.”

“I’m not. The costume’s all mangled and I don’t know how to get you out.”

Osamu punctuates this with a hard poke to a part of the costume. It doesn’t give.

“Oh my god. Oh. My. God. Are you serious? What do we do now?” Atsumu can feel the hysteria building. 

“Stop panicking, idiot. Can’t you wiggle out of the suit?”

“No, I can’t. In case you haven’t noticed, my arms are fucking trapped too!”

It’s true. His shoulders had somehow gotten wedged between the door frame and the suit itself, and the awkward angle means that removing the costume while trapped is no longer an option for Atsumu. 

Osamu curses under his breath. 

“Hold on, I’m gonna ask Kunieda-san for help. I’ll go in through the back door.”

With that, he leaves Atsumu to suffer by himself. In the time he’s gone, Atsumu realizes several shopkeepers and patrons of the nearby businesses have filtered out onto the street upon hearing the commotion. They now stand a little ways from him, tittering and tutting. His face heats, and distantly he wonders if he’s gone the same shade of red as the umeboshi sitting atop the costume. He wishes he was facing the opposite direction. Sure, everyone would be staring at his ass instead, but it would still be better than having his face be associated with the worst mistake of his life. 

And as if god hasn’t spited him enough, he spots something very bright and very orange bounding towards him. 

“Atsumu-san!” Shouyou yells. “What happened to you?”

“Yeah, yell a little louder, draw some more attention to me, why don’t you?” Atsumu hisses as Shouyou nears him. 

“Osamu-san’s doing that already, though. He’s going door-to-door and telling everyone to come and watch.” 

Osamu, that _bastard_. So that’s why he's taking so long. Atsumu hisses as Shouyou’s camera flash momentarily blinds him. 

“Stop taking pictures of me, you jerk,” he growls.

“I’ve gotta show Kageyama,” Shouyou sings. “Oh, and Komori-san too.”

Suddenly, Atsumu hears rapidly approaching footsteps on his left, like somebody’s running. Then, “Miya. What the hell are you doing?”

Fuck.

Very slowly, Atsumu turns his head to see Sakusa eyeing him with a mixture of incredulity and barely-concealed amusement. He wants to die. Why the hell does Sakusa keep catching him in these compromising situations?

“Oh! Omi-san, are you here to laugh at Atsumu-san too?” Shouyou snickers. "I'll man the shop then!"

And then he's dashing off like he’s Sonic the hedgehog, if Sonic was orange and obsessed with perfecting his brioche recipe.

“Osamu told me I had to come quick to Onigiri Miya. Well. I don’t know what I expected, to be honest. But it probably wasn’t you stuck in a door dressed as an onigiri.”

“Looks like you caught me in a pickle,” Atsumu laughs weakly. 

Sakusa’s eyes narrow. “Was that an umeboshi joke?”

“Yes, you bastard. At least give me a laugh. It’s the least I deserve after this crap.”

“Who says I’m not laughing?”

And then Sakusa pulls down his mask to reveal a smile, and Atsumu’s heart stops. 

“Well, I can’t stay for long — I don’t trust Hinata to be alone unsupervised. Anyway, here’s hoping you get out safely, Miya. You look cute, by the way.”

He quirks his lips again at Atsumu, before lifting his mask back up, and then he’s walking away. 

Atsumu makes a strangled noise in his throat. What the fuck? What the fuck!

After a couple more minutes languishing by himself, he hears rather than sees Osamu’s approach behind him, from within the shop. Atsumu, whose brain has been rendered to mush by one Sakusa Kiyoomi, babbles incoherently under his breath.

“What the hell are you saying, Tsumu?” Osamu grumbles.

“Cute...he called me cute? I must be dreaming...? Haha…ha…heh...”

Osamu kicks him in the ass, hard. 

“Ow! What the fuck was that for, Samu?” Atsumu squawks furiously. He cranes his neck to try and shoot his brother a glare, but the sheer girth of the costume has him aborting this attempt rather quickly.

“You were muttering and giggling to yourself, idiot. Are you getting heat stroke or what?”

“And if I am? You think kicking me’s the solution?”

“What have you boys done now...oh. Oh, dear. How did this happen?” Atsumu hears Kunieda-san let out a long-suffering sigh from behind him. 

“Sorry, Kunieda-san,” Osamu mumbles.

“What the hell? Why aren’t you apologizing to me instead?” Atsumu yells indignantly. “I’m the one who’s stuck!” 

“That’s cos it’s your own fault, dumbass. I already told you you could only enter sideways in this thing.”

“Boys, please. Let’s focus on getting Atsumu out, shall we?”

“Yes, Kunieda-san,” they chime reluctantly in unison. 

“I tried pushing him from the outside just now but it didn’t work, maybe we should try pulling him now?” Osamu suggests.

“Yes,” Kunieda-san mutters thoughtfully. “We could give that a try.”

And then without warning, they grab both of Atsumu’s legs and begin heaving.

“Wha- Put me down!” Atsumu shrieks, thrashing wildly. 

“What are you, a fucking fish out of water?” Osamu snaps. “Stop wiggling, you bastard.”

“Language.”

“Sorry, Kunieda-san.”

Unfortunately, pulling does not seem to work either. Atsumu remains very stuck despite their best efforts. 

“I think we have to cut him out,” Kunieda-san huffs, putting Atsumu’s right leg back on the ground.

“Yeah, probably.” Osamu drops Atsumu’s leg without quite the same level of carefulness. 

Atsumu curses him out for the rough handling. 

“I’ll go see if the florist down the street has got a pair of pruning shears we could borrow,” Kunieda-san says, and Atsumu hears him leave through the backdoor. 

“Hey, Tsumu. Sorry but I’ve got some bad news for you,” Osamu says, in a tone that does not sound apologetic at all.

“What, is me being stuck here dressed as a fucking rice ball for the entertainment of the entire neighbourhood not bad enough?”

“Oh, trust me. This is worse.”

“Just fucking spit it out,” Atsumu says tiredly.

“Rin is on his way here with a camera.”

Honestly? This is the worst day of Atsumu’s life.  
  
  
  
  
Suna, who has never been early for anything in his entire life, makes it to Onigiri Miya in under fifteen minutes. 

“Holy shit. You’re a literal Onigiri Miya,” Suna exclaims, before proceeding to photograph Atsumu from every angle imaginable. He gets a few videos in as well for good measure, and Atsumu’s cursing him out in every single one of them. 

Kunieda-san cuts him out in the end, Osamu holding him still as he shrieks each time the shears came a little too close to skin for comfort. Suna offers no assistance, and simply films the entire process while standing comfortably in the shade.

“Aren’t you even gonna give me a hand? Some shitty friend you are, Sunarin,” Atsumu yells.

“In case you didn't realize, filming in landscape is a two-handed affair,” Suna retorts.

“Then just film it in portrait, you bastard,” Atsumu snaps.

“Sorry, but this isn’t amateur hour,” Suna replies. “First rule of the internet is that you film in landscape only.”

“Fuck you,” Atsumu hisses, then squeals when he feels the cool metal of the gardening shears against his skin. 

“Hold still!” Osamu barks. 

“I'm trying!”

When Atsumu is finally freed, the crowd in front of the store gives a resounding round of applause, as if they’ve just witnessed a firefighter rescuing a trapped child from a burning building, and not a grown man being extricated from the confines of a fucking onigiri suit. 

“Do support Onigiri Miya! We’ll be having a promotional menu soon, so don’t miss that,” Osamu calls to the crowd, bowing and smiling politely, because of course he would turn his own brother’s misery into a marketing opportunity. 

“This is the worst day of my life,” Atsumu spits, rubbing at his bruised shoulders. He gives the scrappy remains of the onigiri costume an angry kick. 

“I think it’s the best day of mine,” Suna snickers, looking through his media gallery with a sparkle in his eye. “Oh, this’ll go viral for sure.”

“Fuck off,” Atsumu says miserably.  
  
  
  
  
Atsumu goes viral on every single social media platform by noontime. The uncut video Suna uploaded of him stuck in the doorway has racked up hundreds of thousands of views alone, and that’s not even including the extra video edits he’s since made, replete with nauseating zoom-ins on Atsumu’s distraught face and a looped audio of his distressed noises. All of which the official Onigiri Miya accounts have liked, shared, commented, retweeted, reposted, whatever. Atsumu hates this. He can’t believe his own brother is treating his personal hell as a publicity stunt. 

“Bastard. I’m taking the rest of the day off. You can get Sunarin to cover me, since he’s already here,” Atsumu snaps. 

Suna waves cheerfully as Atsumu grabs his stuff and stomps out.

“Oh my god!”

Atsumu whips his head up in time to see a lady covering her child’s eyes and hurrying away quickly. He looks down at himself. Fuck. He forgot he was still in the skintight spandex suit he’d had to wear under the onigiri. Great. Now in addition to ‘local idiot’, he can add ‘neighbourhood pervert’ to his growing list of titles. Seething, he stomps back into the store to change in the backroom. 

This is truly the worst day of his life.  
  


△

  
  
Atsumu is going insane. After the whole onigiri costume debacle, he’s been catapulted into fame, and has become somewhat of a microcelebrity. There are meme edits of him floating on the internet, and friends from college and high school alike have been blowing up his phone just to laugh at him. People he hasn’t spoken to in years are suddenly texting him just to ask if he’s really the titular star of “Fat Onigiri Stuck in Doorway — Not Clickbait”. It’s a goddamn nightmare.

His group chat consisting of high school friends has not been this active in months. Akagi and Gin have been sending looped gifs of Atsumu struggling in the doorway approximately every hour, while Oomimi and Kita merely laugh at his plight. Even Aran, busy with his thesis or stem cells or whatever, takes a break from his research every couple of hours to scroll through their chat and laugh some more at Atsumu. 

Bokuto, halfway across the world recruiting people into his blueberry sham, finds the time to send Atsumu an incredibly ugly screenshot from the video. He thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Atsumu thinks he needs new friends.

Still, Atsumu can deal with all that. When your twin is Miya Osamu you learn to cope with bastard behaviour. What he can’t cope with, though, is Sakusa Kiyoomi.

It’s been two whole days and he still can’t get Sakusa’s smile out of his brain. The curve of his lips has been replaying in his mind this entire time, along with _you look cute, by the way you look cute, by the way you look cute, by the way—_

“Argh!” Atsumu groans, burying his head in his arms. 

He’s not known for his emotional stability at the best of times, and certainly not now that his very sanity is under assault by one Sakusa Kiyoomi. Fuck him. How dare he mess with Atsumu’s mind like this. Does the bastard even have any idea the kind of brain damage he’s causing him?!

“Stop being disgusting in my shop,” Osamu sneers, kicking at the legs of Atsumu’s stool.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Atsumu screeches, arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance. He totters dangerously close to tipping out of the chair entirely, but manages to grip the edge of the counter in time. He hoists himself up only to be met by Osamu’s annoyed face. 

“It’s written all over your ugly face,”Osamu scoffs. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“No.”

Osamu smacks the back of his head.

“What the fuck was that for?!”

“‘Cause you’re a lying piece of shit.”

“Fine,” Atsumu snaps. “I'm thinking about Omi-kun. But so what if I am? What's it to you anyway?”

Osamu’s face pinches in displeasure. “Then do something about it. I can’t believe nothing came out of that Shizuoka trip. I spent all that money on your train ticket, and for what?”

Atsumu glares. “What, you expect me to just go up to him and confess? No thanks.”

Osamu sighs in irritation. “What are you even afraid of? If it’s rejection, then I’m telling you now that I think Komori’s right. Kiyoomi likes you too, dumbass.”

Atsumu levels his brother with an unimpressed look. “I'm not taking love advice from the guy who thought FWB stood for Food With Beverage." 

That quip earns him another nasty smack to the head. Atsumu whimpers in pain.

“Look,” Osamu says, annoyed. “That day when you got stuck, I told him something bad had happened to you, and he literally dropped everything and ran out of the cafe. If that’s not indication enough, then I don’t know what is.”

“ _You’re_ the something bad that happened to me,” Atsumu mutters mutinously, then braces himself for the smack to come, but it never lands. 

Instead, he hears the tinkling of the entry chime. Someone steps into the store, peering around curiously. Then his eyes land on Atsumu by the counter, and they light up in recognition.

“Atsumu-chan!”

Atsumu looks up in horror at the sound of his voice, and then Oikawa Tooru is skipping over to him, wearing a dazzling smile and his signature coiffed hairstyle. 

Oh, hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare yourself atsumu-chan
> 
> EVERYBODY THERE IS ART OF [ONIGIRI ATSUMU](https://twitter.com/dragonet_era/status/1368814666923667456?s=20) AND HE IS ADORABLE PLEASE LOOK AT HIM!! THANK U @dragonet_era SO MUCH FOR THIS
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


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